Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jimin opens their hotel window just a crack, letting in a sharp gust of the Melbourne breeze, then turns back toward the room.

Minjeong's sprawled out on the couch, her legs dangling over the edge, hair still damp from practice. Her phone is balanced on her chest, and she's playing some YouTube video she isn't even watching.

"Are you pouting already?" Jimin asks, clearly amused. 

Minjeong doesn't look up. "Shut it."

Jimin walks over, towel slung around her neck, and leans down to press a cold water bottle against Minjeong's cheek.

Minjeong squeaks and swats at her.

"You're so dramatic," Jimin says, grinning.

"You're dramatic," Minjeong mutters, sitting up. Her voice is sulky. "I saw the draw."

"Mm." Jimin tosses the bottle onto the coffee table and flops onto the couch beside her, tugging Minjeong's legs over her lap. "We might meet in the fourth round, huh?"

Minjeong scowls.

Jimin is already smiling. That cocky, lopsided grin that drives Minjeong insane, but also made her fall in love with her in the first place. "Think we'll make it that far?"

"I will. You're overdue for a shocking second round exit."

Jimin laughs, her head falling back against the cushion. "You say that every tournament."

"Maybe if I say it enough, the tennis gods will finally listen."

They both know how this usually goes. Their head-to-head sits at 5-1 in Jimin's favor. Technically, it's 5-1. But everyone, including Minjeong, knows that one win comes with a giant exception.

It was Madrid, last spring. Clay season. Minjeong had taken the first set in a tiebreak, playing some of her best tennis in months, and she'd felt…hopeful for once. Like maybe the mental block was finally cracking. Then Jimin had walked briskly to the net and retired from the match.

Food poisoning from dinner the night prior.

Minjeong had "won," but it didn't count in her eyes. She'd hardly celebrated. She spent more time holding Jimin's hair back in the bathroom that night than actually feeling proud of herself.

It's January now. The Australian Open. First Grand Slam of the year. "The Happy Slam," they call it. Everyone's fresh from the off season, eager to start the year off on a good note. Minjeong especially.

She's ranked fourteenth in the world. Her form is better than it's been in a while. She's playing some good fucking tennis. She reached the final in Adelaide just last week. She should be excited.

But Jimin's in her section of the draw. The World No. 1. The WTA's princess. Minjeong's kryptonite. On the court and off it.

She gets especially moody the night before her first round match. In the hotel room, she's pacing, toying with the strings of her racket, re-taping her grip for the third time just to keep her hands busy.

Jimin lounges on the bed like she's on vacation with her earbuds in, watching highlight reels of their old matches.

"Stop watching that," Minjeong snaps.

Jimin raises a brow. "Why?"

"Because it's annoying."

"You're the one who asked if I was studying tape."

"I didn't think you'd pick our matches. Focus on your first round opponent, for fuck's sake."

Jimin grins, pulling out one of the earbuds. "Come here."

"No."

"Minjeongie."

"What?"

"You're not gonna break up with me if I win again, right?"

Minjeong crosses her arms. "We haven't even made it to the fourth round yet."

"But you've already threatened to leave me. Isn't that a little premature?"

Minjeong glares. "I only said I'd consider it. If you beat me badly."

"Define badly."

"If I don't win at least five games total, I'm blocking you on everything."

Jimin cocks her head. "Even Insta?"

"Especially Insta."

"That's so cruel."

"You deserve it."

Jimin chuckles and reaches for her. Minjeong lets herself be pulled into bed, slipping under the sheets with a grumble. Their legs tangle naturally.

Jimin kisses the top of her head. "You'll beat me someday, you know."

Minjeong exhales. "Yeah. Someday."

The fourth round comes too quickly. Yu Jimin vs. Kim Minjeong. Rod Laver Arena.

Exactly what the draw predicted. Exactly what Minjeong hoped to avoid.

She's been on a roll. Breezed through her first round match in just over an hour. Took out a solid player in the second like it was nothing. Came back from a set down in the third round and closed it out convincingly.

But Jimin is different.

It's not just that her girlfriend is ranked No. 1. It's not just the 5-1 head-to-head that haunts Minjeong in her dreams. No. It's the way Jimin shows up all composed and unbothered, like nothing rattles her. 

When Minjeong walks onto the court, her jaw is tight and her shoulders are rigid. She doesn't wave at the crowd or even crack a smile. She takes her seat on the bench and tightens her ponytail like she's about to fight. 

And it's hectic from the very first point.

She goes for lines she doesn't need to go for. Tries to hit through Jimin when patience would serve her better. It's desperation disguised as aggression, and Jimin sees straight through it.

She holds that first service game by the skin of her teeth.

Jimin's first service game ends in less than a minute.

Then Minjeong double faults in her second.

She swears under her breath.

It's not that she's playing badly. The timing's there. The power. But every time she edges ahead, gets a break point, or a 30-0 lead, Jimin snatches it away from her.

A forehand winner that clips the baseline.

A second serve ace down the T.

A drop shot that dies just past the net.

Minjeong's sweat drenched hand slips on her grip and she barks out a curse. Her coach shifts in his seat and tries to encourage her. 

At 3-3 in the second set, Jimin holds after a four deuce game that leaves Minjeong breathing heavily. She gets broken in the next game with a flurry of errors, the last of which lands wide by a foot.

Minjeong finally snaps.

Her racket hits the ground with a crack, and the crowd gasps. She knows the commentators up in the booth are already going off about her "losing it" and her "lack of mental toughness", even though she can't hear a thing.

The umpire calls for a code violation. Racket abuse. She doesn't argue.

Jimin watches her silently from across the net before she prepares to serve for the match.

Minjeong loses. 6-4, 6-3.

Not a blowout. Not a disaster. But still enough for it to sting like hell.

Minjeong doesn't stay for the handshake.

She doesn't even look at Jimin as she walks off the court with her head down.

That night, Jimin comes back to a dark hotel room.

Minjeong's curled up in bed, back to the door and a blanket pulled over her head.

Jimin sets her bag down quietly. She doesn't try to talk to her. She just changes into her pajamas and climbs into bed, resting a cautious hand on Minjeong's shoulder.

A long pause. Then, Minjeong finally speaks up.

"I blocked you on Insta."

Jimin huffs a laugh. "I noticed."

"I'm mad at you."

"I know."

Another beat of silence.

"You looked really hot today."

That pulls a smile from Jimin. "You too."

Minjeong peeks out from under the blanket, her hair a mess and her eyes puffy. "I mean it. You were, like...unplayable."

Jimin cups her cheek, brushing her thumb lightly along her jaw. "You almost broke me in the first set."

"Almost doesn't count."

"Almost means you're getting closer."

Minjeong doesn't answer. She just leans in and presses her face to Jimin's chest.

The next day, they're on the far end of the complex, alone on Court 17. It's one of the outer practice courts no one really cares about.

"I shouldn't even be here," Minjeong mutters, tossing a ball at the fence.

"You asked if I needed a hitting partner," Jimin says, not looking up as she ties her shoe.

"I was trying to be nice."

"You were trying to flirt."

"Please don't flatter yourself."

Jimin stands and offers her a smug grin. "I literally knocked you out of the tournament. You're still here. Still sleeping in my bed. Still watching my matches. That's love, baby."

Minjeong glares. "You're annoying."

"I'm right."

"You're so—" The words die on her tongue when Jimin steps into her space, tugging on the collar of Minjeong's tank top.

"Mm?" Jimin hums.

Minjeong tries to stay mad. She really does. But Jimin's hands are warm and stupidly gentle as they brush stray hairs behind her ears.

"I hate you," Minjeong whispers.

Jimin leans in with a crooked smirk. "No, you don't."

Minjeong kisses her. Hard.

Jimin's hand slides down to Minjeong's waist, fingers pressing above her hip, her thumb rubbing circles into her skin. Minjeong fists her hands in the back of Jimin's shirt and pulls her closer until they're almost chest to chest, their rackets forgotten on the ground.

They make out on the baseline like they have nowhere to be.

Eventually, Jimin breaks the kiss with a breathless laugh. "Are we even going to hit any balls today?"

Minjeong stares at her, flushed and a little dazed. "Like you even need the practice. Miss World No. 1."

Jimin laughs and kisses her again.

Minjeong pulls away with a small grunt and shoves her lightly. "Fine. Let's practice."

They hit for nearly an hour. It's not too intense, since Jimin's trying to save her legs for the quarterfinals, but productive enough that sweat clings to both of them. Minjeong's shots are landing deep. Her timing's clean.

Still, she can't help but roll her eyes every time Jimin offers her two cents.

"Baby, your wrist is too stiff on your backhand."

"I'm out of the tournament."

"Exactly. Might as well work on the things that got you knocked out."

Minjeong huffs. "Jackass."

But when Jimin comes up behind her, pressing in close to guide her arms through the motion, Minjeong doesn't stop her. She pretends to grumble, but her skin's already buzzing.

"This is stupid," she mutters.

"It's hot," Jimin breathes out against her ear.

"You're a menace."

"You love me."

"I do," Minjeong admits, her voice noticeably softer.

Jimin slides her arms fully around Minjeong's waist, pulling her flush against her chest, and Minjeong doesn't even have to see the grin on Jimin's lips to know it's there.

"Say it again."

Minjeong exhales, the last of her fake annoyance dissolving.

"I love you."

Jimin kisses her neck, then her jaw, then finally turns her so they're facing each other. "I love you too."

They collapse onto the bench near the sideline minutes later, sticky with sweat, their legs brushing. Jimin grabs a towel and drapes it over both their laps, then snatches Minjeong's water bottle.

"Hey!" Minjeong protests.

"You're here because of me. I get perks."

"Pest."

Jimin passes the bottle back after a long sip and stretches her arms behind her head. "Quarterfinals tomorrow. Night session."

Minjeong leans into her side, cheek resting on her shoulder. "You'll win."

"Mm. I hope so. I want to make the final."

"You will."

"You'll be rooting for me?"

"Duh." Minjeong threads their fingers together. "I may be out of the tournament, but I'm unfortunately still your biggest fan."

Jimin smiles. 

They sit like that for a while, enjoying the comfortable silence between them.

"Hey," Jimin speaks up, her voice soft. "Next time we play… you're allowed to beat me."

Minjeong rolls her eyes. "Don't patronize me."

"I'm not. I mean it."

Minjeong sighs, but there's the faintest smile on her lips. "I'll believe it when it happens."

"It will," Jimin says, kissing the side of her head. "Eventually."

Minjeong hums. "Just don't fall in love with anyone else when I do."

"Not possible," Jimin murmurs. "I'm stupid for you. Always have been."

The lights in their hotel room are dim when they return. Not for the ambiance, but because Minjeong says the overhead lighting makes Jimin "look too pretty" and she finds it "distracting." Jimin, naturally, takes this as a compliment.

"Still can't believe you're hitting with me and sleeping with me," Jimin says, lying on her back, her hair splayed across the pillow. "What did I do to deserve such generosity?"

Minjeong, sitting with her legs crossed at the edge of the bed, throws a sock at her. "You knocked me out of a Grand Slam. I should be plotting your downfall."

"Instead you're eye-fucking me."

Minjeong doesn't even blink. "Who says I'm not doing both?"

That makes Jimin sit up, her lips pulling into a smirk. "You're dangerous."

Minjeong crawls up the bed. "You like it."

"I love it."

Jimin brings her in for a kiss, her mouth moving against Minjeong's slowly, delicately, but then Minjeong fists a hand in her shirt, and that changes the pace completely. The kiss becomes rougher, more desperate, like they haven't seen each other in weeks. 

"Want you," Minjeong says, breathless.

"Yeah?" Jimin asks, kissing down the column of her throat, biting gently, then laving the area with her tongue. 

Minjeong shudders, letting Jimin guide her onto her back, her head hitting the pillow with a soft thud. Jimin hovers above her, hands framing her face for a moment, just looking at Minjeong like she's trying to commit every inch of her to memory.

"I can't believe you're all mine," she murmurs. "You're so fucking perfect."

Minjeong's heart does a flip, and she tugs at the hem of Jimin's shirt. "Off."

Jimin peels it off and tosses it over her shoulder, then immediately reaches for Minjeong's top, dragging it up and over her head. She kisses Minjeong hard, then trails down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, sucking a mark just beneath Minjeong's throat.

"God, Jimin—"

"I love when you say my name like that," Jimin whispers, lips brushing Minjeong's breast.

She takes her time, kissing across Minjeong's chest, over one breast and then the other, tongue flicking, lips closing around her nipple until Minjeong gasps and threads her fingers in her hair. Her hips lift, naturally searching for more friction, but Jimin doesn't rush. 

She worships Minjeong like she's earned it. And Minjeong lets her, whimpering when Jimin kisses her way lower. Her stomach, her hips, the sensitive spot just below her navel until she's kneeling between her legs, hooking her fingers into the waistband of Minjeong's shorts, and then her panties, tugging them down her legs with ease.

"You're trembling," Jimin teases softly.

"Maybe I'm cold," Minjeong says, her thighs parting wider, tipping her head back against the pillow.

Jimin chuckles, kisses the inside of her thigh, and then the other. "You're not."

She settles between them, her hands holding Minjeong open, breath warm against her heat, already slick and aching. And when she finally lowers her mouth to her, Minjeong curses, gripping the sheets so tightly her knuckles go white.

"Fuck—Ji—"

Jimin hums against her, her tongue dragging along her like she has all night. Like she doesn't have to play in one of the biggest matches of her life tomorrow. Minjeong chokes on a moan, and her hips twitch, but Jimin holds her steady, tongue circling, sucking, licking until Minjeong is a mess above her, writhing, panting, gasping her name.

"You're so good," Minjeong whimpers, her thighs trembling. "Too good—fuck— Jimin —"

Jimin doesn't slow down, not giving her a moment to breathe, just keeps pushing her closer and closer until that final flick of her tongue against Minjeong's clit brings her over the edge. Minjeong comes with a loud cry, her head thrown back, chest arching, body curling in on itself.

Jimin doesn't stop until she's sure Minjeong's wrung dry, until she's shaking and twitching with oversensitivity, hips jerking away with helpless little whines. Only then does she kiss her way back up, dragging her lips across her sweat damp skin, licking into Minjeong's mouth as she settles on top of her again.

Minjeong tastes herself on her, moaning softly into the kiss, her arms wrapping around Jimin's bare back.

They kiss like that for a while, until Jimin inevitably slides off, a satisfied grin forming over her lips as she cuddles up beside her.

"I really hate how good you are at everything," Minjeong murmurs.

Jimin grins. "Especially this?"

"Especially this."

"I love you," Jimin says.

Minjeong turns slightly to look at her, her hair a mess, and her face flushed pink.

"I love you too," she breathes. "Even though you ruin my life regularly."

Jimin chuckles, and wraps her arms around Minjeong until they fall asleep.

Minjeong wakes up alone that morning.

It's not unusual. Jimin likes to do her morning stretches in silence and take long, scalding showers to "open up her lungs," whatever that means. But still, the empty side of the bed is too cold. Minjeong reaches across the sheets anyway, like she might catch the last bit of warmth clinging to them.

She doesn't. So she sighs and sits up.

The quarterfinals are today. Jimin plays tonight.

She pads barefoot to the bathroom, just in time to hear Jimin humming under the spray of the shower. Minjeong leans against the doorframe and closes her eyes, letting herself breathe in the steam.

The water finally shuts off after a few minutes and Jimin steps out, wrapped in her towel and glowing from head to toe. Her hair's twisted up, loose strands falling around her face. Her skin is pink from the hot water. She looks fresh and soft and annoyingly perfect.

She sees Minjeong and smiles. "Staring again?"

Minjeong shrugs. "What can I say? You're a visual experience."

Jimin laughs and steps closer, a little water dripping from her collarbone. "You always get flirty when I have a match."

"I always get flirty when you look like that," Minjeong corrects her, trailing her fingers along the edge of the towel.

Jimin leans in, nosing against Minjeong's cheek. "Keep talking like that and I'll skip breakfast."

Minjeong smirks, but pulls away before things can escalate. "Save it for the court. You've got another tournament to win."

Jimin pouts in mock offense. "Is that all I am to you? A trophy magnet?"

"Pretty much." Minjeong steps around her, reaching for her toothbrush. "But you're my trophy magnet, so I guess it works out."

Jimin wraps her arms around Minjeong's waist from behind, resting her chin on her shoulder. "Are you gonna be in my box tonight?"

Minjeong meets her eyes in the mirror. "Obviously."

"Just checking," Jimin says, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "You know I always play better when you're watching."

Minjeong scoffs. "You play better when anyone's watching. You're a show-off."

"So?"

Minjeong spits a little toothpaste into the sink. "We need to knock you down a few pegs."

They share the bathroom in easy silence, brushing their teeth shoulder to shoulder, stealing glances in the mirror all the while.

When Jimin finally pulls on her warm-ups and slings her racket bag over her shoulder, Minjeong's already there by the door, handing her a protein bar and tiptoeing to press a soft kiss to her lips.

"For luck," she says.

Jimin smiles against her mouth. "Don't need it."

She takes it anyway.

Rod Laver Arena is buzzing when Jimin walks onto the court later. She looks good. Fairly confident. Seriously hot in her navy blue kit. But Minjeong can still see the little tells. Jimin spending a second longer tying her shoelace. Her glancing toward the player's box a little more than she usually does during the warm-up.

She's nervous. Minjeong is too.

Her opponent today is Ekaterina Volkova. A Russian. Tall and intimidating, ripper of a forehand and a proper set of lungs on her. She screams "Davai!" every time she hits a winner, and Minjeong has to force herself not to visibly cringe.

Jimin, of course, is eating it up.

"She's pretty hot," Jimin had told her once, during breakfast at another tournament a few years back.

Minjeong had thrown a grape at her head.

Now, from her seat in the player's box, Minjeong watches their match unfold with bated breath. Jimin double faults once, early in the first set, and Minjeong's nails dig into her thigh, but it's fine. Jimin recovers. Yu Jimin always recovers. She's the World No. 1 for a reason.

She breaks Volkova at 4-4, lets out a guttural "COME ON!" that gives Minjeong goosebumps, and then holds for the set like it's just practice.

The second set is tighter. Volkova hits harder, screams louder. It's almost impressive, the sheer volume of her davais.

But Jimin doesn't blink. Doesn't roll her eyes. She just keeps hitting. Keeps moving. Keeps pushing. And then, at 5-5, she hits a crosscourt backhand past Volkova's outstretched racket to break and pumps her fist enthusiastically into the air.

Minjeong can barely breathe.

She holds for the match. 6-4, 7-5.

The moment the final ball sails long, Jimin drops her racket and tilts her head back, eyes closed. A tame celebration. She's simply taking it all in.

Minjeong rises from her seat, clapping wildly, her heart too full to sit still.

After the match, Minjeong finds Jimin practically glowing in the cool-down room. 

"You survived the Davai," Jimin says, grinning as Minjeong walks toward her.

"I almost left," Minjeong deadpans. "Every time she screamed, I aged a year."

"She was kind of hot, though."

Minjeong narrows her eyes. "You wanna sleep alone tonight?"

Jimin just laughs and pulls her in by the hips, burying her face in the crook of Minjeong's neck. "You're the only one I want."

Minjeong melts. She threads her fingers through Jimin's damp hair and presses a kiss behind her ear.

"I'm so fucking proud of you," she whispers.

Jimin hums against her skin. "Thank you for being here."

"I'll always be here."

The following night, they're seated on the rooftop of a quiet restaurant tucked between Melbourne high-rises. Jimin had insisted on getting away, just to breathe a little before the semifinals.

"This feels illegal," Minjeong says, smirking at her.

Jimin sets her fork down. "What does?"

"We're literally gorging on pasta and wine before your semifinal."

"Exactly," Jimin says with a tilt of her head. "Might be the last calm moment I get. You're doing me a favor."

Minjeong rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I'm such a martyr. Sacrificing myself to eat carbs with my hot girlfriend under the stars."

Jimin grins lazily. "You think I'm hot?"

Minjeong kicks her lightly under the table. "Shut up and eat your pasta."

They eat quietly, and Minjeong watches the city lights flicker against Jimin's skin. At one point, she's even tempted to lean over and kiss her senseless.

But instead, she says, "You're gonna win tomorrow."

Jimin looks at her, eyes soft. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Even if she's ranked number three in the world and hits like a freight train?"

Minjeong leans forward, her foot finding Jimin's again under the table. "She's not you, baby."

On semifinal night, Minjeong is a bundle of nerves. Her eyes can't tear away from Jimin as she warms up on court. Her opponent is all power, a baseliner with legs for days and a ruthless backhand. But Jimin doesn't flinch.

Minjeong watches, perched on the edge of her seat like she might fall over into the court.

The match starts tight. Long rallies, deep balls, unforced errors on both sides. Minjeong can feel the tension vibrating off her.

But Jimin holds. And then breaks. She yells so loud after a crosscourt winner that Minjeong feels it in her bones.

First set, Yu. 6-3.

In the second set, Jimin falters. Drops a service game. Falls behind 2-4. Her opponent is screaming now, trying to claw her way back into the match, and the crowd is starting to get behind her too. They love an underdog.

Minjeong clutches the edge of her seat.

Then Jimin does what she always does.

She resets. Takes some deep breaths. Loosens her shoulders. And then she moves. Chases every ball, paints the lines, punishes pace with pace. She breaks back. Holds. Breaks again. Serves it out.

6-3, 6-4.

It's over.

Minjeong stands with the rest of the crowd as Jimin raises her arms. Her smile grows with the applause and cheers roaring throughout the stadium. Jimin doesn't even look toward her box right away. She just feels the moment. She's one match away from being crowned champion.

Eventually, she looks for Minjeong. Finds her instantly.

Minjeong is grinning like an idiot.

They don't talk until they're back in the tunnel.

Jimin's just finished her cool-down. Minjeong walks up with her arms crossed, and her heart impossibly full in her chest.

"You're ridiculous," she says.

Jimin raises an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Everything. The way you play. The way you fight. The way you act like you're not sweating when I know you are."

Jimin steps in, crowding her. "I'm definitely sweating."

"You're crazy."

"You love it."

Minjeong reaches for her wrist and grins. "I love you."

Jimin grins back and kisses her. 

Their hotel room is quiet. Jimin is lying on her stomach across the bed, her head turned toward Minjeong, feet lazily swaying behind her. Her hair's damp from her shower, and she's wearing a faded t-shirt Minjeong swears she's going to "accidentally" throw out one day.

Minjeong's sitting up against the headboard, scrolling through her phone, not really reading anything. 

Tomorrow night is the final.

"You ever think about how I could be one match away from having all four?" Jimin says suddenly.

Minjeong looks over, a little startled. "All four?"

Jimin rolls onto her side and props herself up on her elbow. "Slams. If I win tomorrow, I'll have the full set. Wimbledon, Roland Garros, the US Open, and finally—" She taps her fingers against the sheets. "The Australian Open."

Minjeong blinks. "Wow."

"I've come close. Finals two years ago, semis last year. But it's the only trophy that's still missing."

Minjeong hums, tucking a knee up to her chest. "God, you're greedy."

Jimin squints at her. "Excuse me?"

"You already have three slams. I haven't even won one."

"You've won me."

Minjeong groans. "That's not a trophy."

Jimin smirks, shifting closer. "Feels like one."

"You're insufferable."

Jimin chuckles, and then her smile softens. "I know it doesn't really matter. I've had an amazing career already. But... I want this one. Just once. Just to know what it feels like."

Minjeong reaches out and runs her fingers through her girlfriend's hair. "Then go get it."

The court is electric the night of the final. A perfect Melbourne summer night. 

Jimin walks out like she belongs there.

Because she does.

She keeps her shoulders loose and her expression unreadable while her opponent paces around like a caged animal on the other side of the net. Big serve and a powerful forehand, younger than Jimin by two years and playing the tournament of her life.

But Jimin looks calm.

Minjeong is anything but.

Every part of her feels strung tight. She's leaning forward, elbows on her knees, praying that Jimin can finally pull this off.

Neither player gives an inch when it starts. The rallies stretch into twenty, thirty shots. Jimin plays deep and clever. Her opponent goes for broke. It's push and pull.

Jimin saves two break points early with unreturnable first serves, then scrambles for a backhand pass that leaves Minjeong's heart in her throat. She's still down love–30 in her next service game when she opens up the forehand wing and rips one down the line.

It clips the line.

Rod Laver Arena goes mad.

Minjeong exhales for the first time in minutes.

At 6-5, Jimin pushes forward on a short return, and slices a backhand that barely floats over the net. Her opponent tries to pass her, but Jimin's already there.

She sticks her racket out. Snaps the volley.

It lands just inside.

Set point.

Minjeong gets up from her seat and claps like a mad woman.

Jimin clenches her fist, her chest heaving and eyes burning.

First set, 7-5.

The second set, Jimin comes alive.

She moves around the court seamlessly. Rides the wave like she's never doubted it. At 2-1, she breaks with a backhand winner that threads the narrowest angle Minjeong's ever seen. At 4-2, she forces an error with a looping forehand that kicks up and rushes her opponent off the baseline.

It's breathtaking tennis. Gorgeous. Clinical.

Minjeong is simply frozen watching her.

At 5-3, with the crowd already shifting forward in their seats, Jimin steps up to serve on championship point. She misses her first serve, but doesn't panic. She just exhales and bounces the ball a few more times, whispering some words of encouragement to herself.

Then she serves again, the toss high. It kicks out wide, and the return floats short.

She doesn't wait.

Jimin steps in and crushes her forehand down the line, perhaps the cleanest one she's ever struck in her life.

Winner.

Game, set, match. Yu Jimin.

Then the arena explodes.

Jimin drops her racket and falls to her knees. Her hands come up to cover her face, then fall again. She looks up at the lights and smiles so wide Minjeong's own chest aches with it.

She's done it.

She's won the one she didn't have.

Yu Jimin, Australian Open champion.

Minjeong is on her feet, clapping until her palms sting, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.

Later, after the trophy ceremony, after countless photos, hugs, and confetti, Jimin meets Minjeong in the tunnel.

She's still in her match kit, wrinkled and a little stained from spilling one of her electrolyte drinks on herself during a changeover earlier. A white towel's draped around her shoulders, and the trophy is cradled in her arms.

Minjeong grins at the sight. She walks forward and grabs her, pulling Jimin in like it's second nature.

Jimin exhales sharply. Wraps an arm around her tightly.

Minjeong buries her face in Jimin's neck, breathing her in.

"You did it," she whispers.

Jimin laughs, but it's breathless. Shaky. "I really did."

"All four."

"Yeah."

Minjeong pulls back to look at her, her hands sliding up the back of Jimin's neck and into her hair, ruffling it a bit.

"You greedy fucking bitch," she murmurs, and Jimin laughs heartily.

Chapter Text

They don't leave Australia right away.

They could. Most players do. Get a few hours of sleep, catch a flight in the morning, have more time to adjust for the Middle East Swing where the courts are a lot slower than they are here. But neither of them wants to.

There's no big conversation or plan about it. Just an understanding that they need some quality time with each other. Have the opportunity to celebrate Jimin's milestone away from everyone else.

So they stay. Not in Melbourne, but they take a car and drive up north. Rent a spacious villa that overlooks the bay. 

It's perfect.

No one asks for autographs there. No one recognizes them. Or if they do, they don't get bothered.

They sleep late and go for long walks. Share a blanket and snacks on the balcony. They spend one morning sitting on the living room floor trying to figure out how to play a board game they found in the cabinet. Minjeong wins. Jimin whines.

They don't talk about tennis. 

At night, Jimin kisses Minjeong like she's the only thing that matters. Worships every inch of the woman who means more to her than a trophy ever could.

And Minjeong surrenders completely. Lets herself get lost in the feeling of Jimin's mouth. Of Jimin's deft fingers that continuously draw out her pleasure.

They go to bed every night with their skin buzzing and their hearts full.

It's time well spent.

Before they know it, it's clay season.

Jimin arrives in Madrid riding a high. She skipped the Middle East Swing back in February to give her body more time to recover from Australia. Swept through Indian Wells and Miami like it was light work. Back-to-back titles. Sunshine Double. Just the World No. 1 doing World No. 1 things.

Minjeong… didn't win anything.

Doha was a bust and Dubai was even worse. Early round losses in the States, too. Her rhythm's off and her ranking's dipped. It's not ideal. But clay is different. Clay gives her hope. She's had some of the best results of her career on this surface.

Then the Madrid draw comes out.

Yu Jimin, Kim Minjeong. A possible third round match-up.

Crossing paths again.

Exactly what Minjeong doesn't need when she's already clinging to her season by a thread.

Of course, they both make it there.

The night before their match, Jimin sits at the edge of the hotel bed, scrolling through her phone mindlessly.

Minjeong emerges from the bathroom, wearing a pair of skimpy sleep shorts and a shirt that barely covers her midriff.

Jimin looks up and forgets how to breathe. 

The phone slips from her fingers and onto the sheets. She stares.

Minjeong catches the look and promptly rolls her eyes. "Jimin. Don't."

Jimin's lower lip juts out. "Don't what?"

"Look at me like that," Minjeong says, a little annoyance seeping into her words. "We play tomorrow. I don't need you messing with my head."

"I'm not trying to mess with your head," Jimin argues as she leans back. Her palms press into the mattress. "If anything, you are. Those are barely even shorts."

Minjeong folds her arms. "They're comfy."

"They're criminal," Jimin replies, her lips quirking up.

Minjeong tries to suppress a smile and fails. Miserably.

Jimin holds her gaze. Her expression softens, and so does her voice when she utters, "Please?"

Minjeong groans and crosses the room. Because who is she to deny the woman she loves anything?

"I really need to stop sleeping with the competition," Minjeong mutters as she steps between Jimin's legs.

"God forbid," Jimin says, her hands already sliding up the backs of Minjeong's thighs. "The competition is pretty fucking obsessed with you."

Minjeong snickers softly, then leans down to kiss her. Jimin tugs her closer until she's practically in her lap.

"Be quick," Minjeong whispers.

Jimin grins against her mouth. "Yeah, sure."

Jimin is not quick.

​​It's past 2 a.m. when Minjeong finally collapses into her chest. She's sore and breathless. The match is scheduled for 1 p.m.

"You're so going to kick my ass," Minjeong mumbles sleepily.

Jimin chuckles, stroking her hand along Minjeong's spine. "We'll see what happens."

The match starts just as expected. Afternoon sun beating down on their skin. Lung busting rallies. Winners from all over the court. The crowd supports them equally, but Jimin takes the first set off Minjeong, 6-4. A net cord on her first break point of the match. 

Lucky bitch, Minjeong thinks.

She leaves the court before the next one begins. Decides to give herself a little pep talk in the bathroom mirror instead of screaming into her towel or obliterating another racket. It's progress.

And when Minjeong returns, she lifts her level. Dictates the second set. Her forehand catches fire. Her movement is better. She gets an early break and doesn't let it slip. 6-3.

All square.

Minjeong breathes heavily during the changeover. Jimin grabs a towel and wipes beads of sweat from her face.

Two games into the third set, it happens.

Jimin chases a wide backhand and slides, but her foot catches awkwardly. Her ankle rolls, and she goes down hard. Letting out a yelp that has Minjeong's heart in her throat.

Then instinct takes over.

Minjeong hurries to the other side of the net. Leaves her racket behind.

Because that's not her opponent anymore. That's Jimin on the ground.

She drops to her knees beside Jimin, concern etched all over features. "Hey. Are you okay?"

Jimin lets out a shaky breath. "I'm fine."

Her hands are clenched in the clay. She's wincing.

Minjeong hovers close. "Can you move it?"

The physio sprints across the court. Jimin tries to push herself upright. She waves them off at first, but eventually, she lets up.

Medical timeout. They tape her ankle up tight. Jimin insists on finishing the match. Minjeong knows better than to argue with her.

Jimin plays the rest of the set, but the difference is night and day. Her movement's not there. She gives up on chasing shots she usually would. It's not the Yu Jimin Minjeong and the rest of the players on tour know.

Minjeong hates it. She hates that she has to keep playing. She hates that this is how it's going to go.

But that's tennis.

In the end, Minjeong wins the match. 4-6, 6-3, 6-2.

She doesn't celebrate.

Jimin greets her with a small smile at the net, trying to keep her balance. 

Minjeong leans over and pulls her into a hug. She turns her head to press a kiss to her cheek.

Jimin closes her eyes and melts into it.

Later, in the hallway near the locker rooms, Minjeong finds Jimin standing with her back against the wall.

"You shouldn't have kept playing," Minjeong tells her.

"Didn't think it was that bad," Jimin mutters.

Minjeong scowls. "Bullshit."

Jimin sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "I just… I didn't want it to be like last year. I didn't want you thinking it was another fluke."

Minjeong steps closer. She reaches up to cup Jimin's face in both hands.

"I don't give a shit," she starts, "I don't give a shit if people call it a fluke. I care about you. I want you to be okay."

Her thumb brushes over Jimin's cheek. Jimin keeps her eyes fixed on the floor.

"You don't have to prove anything to me, Jimin. Ever."

Jimin looks up slowly. 

"Okay," she whispers after a moment. "Okay."

"Don't do that again," Minjeong says firmly.

"I won't."

Minjeong leans in and kisses her. "Good."

"But I'm totally skipping Madrid next year," Jimin grumbles as she pulls back. "This place is fucking cursed."

Madrid moves on without them.

Minjeong loses her next match in straight sets. She's all over the place. Not sharp. Not focused. Maybe it's the lack of sleep, or her mind constantly playing Jimin's fall on a loop. 

Or maybe it's just tennis. Sometimes it's just really cruel.

So she's officially out of the tournament, and Jimin's officially off her feet.

Minjeong won't let her do anything. Not even reach for the remote.

"Don't bend," she scolds, grabbing it for Jimin instead.

"I was reaching, not bending."

"Same thing."

"I'm not made of glass, babe."

Minjeong gives her a look. "You're made of dumb decisions."

Jimin clenches her jaw and leans back into the pillows. 

"You're hovering," Jimin mutters later, when Minjeong brings her an ice pack without her even asking for it.

Minjeong blinks. "I'm helping."

"You're hovering," Jimin repeats, clearly irritated. "I can do things on my own."

Minjeong straightens, her grip tightening around the ice pack. "I know you can. I just want to make sure you're okay."

"Well, I'm not, alright?" Jimin hisses as she tosses a pillow off the bed in frustration. "I feel useless. And watching you act like I'll break if I do anything doesn't fucking help."

Minjeong stiffens. Pauses.

"Sorry I care, then," she says flatly.

"That's not what I—" Jimin cuts herself off, rubbing a hand over her face. "I didn't mean it like that. I just hate this. Sitting here and not playing. Needing your help."

"You think I enjoy seeing you like this?" Minjeong snaps. "You think I don't feel like shit too?"

Jimin's shoulders drop. She doesn't snap back. She just looks at Minjeong with a little guilt in her eyes.

"I know," she says softly. "I know you're only trying to take care of me."

Minjeong moves over to her and kneels beside the bed. "I'm not trying to smother you, Jimin. I just love you."

Jimin touches her face, brushes her thumb under Minjeong's eye tenderly. "You're doing perfect, baby. I'm sorry."

Minjeong rests her forehead against Jimin's thigh and exhales. "It's okay."

In the morning, Minjeong helps her shower, and Jimin lets her. There aren't any complaints this time. She leans into her touch as Minjeong lathers shampoo into her hair.

"I still feel like an asshole about last night," Jimin admits, loud enough for Minjeong to hear under the spray of the shower.

"I'm over it," Minjeong assures her, giving her a small smile. "And honestly, I think it's kind of hot when you go bitch mode."

Jimin's lips spread into a grin. "Don't tell me that. I'll milk it."

Minjeong flicks water in her face.

They land in Paris on a rainy afternoon. Jimin's walking better now. Her ankle still needs tape and feels stiff in the mornings, but the worst of it has passed. She didn't play the tournament in Rome. Her team wouldn't let her, and Minjeong certainly wouldn't let her, but she still watched every match.

She watched Minjeong win the whole damn thing. Her first title of the year. A statement win at that.

"I like my chances for Roland Garros," Minjeong had said in her press conference afterward, beaming with the trophy beside her.

Because if she can win Rome, where the conditions are similar, Roland Garros feels like it's actually within reach.

They're not on the same side of the draw for once either. Which means there's a world in which they could meet in a Grand Slam final for the first time.

It also means they spend the opening day of the tournament pretending not to watch each other's matches in the players' lounge. Jimin watches from behind her cap, clenching her fist with pride every time Minjeong wins a tight point. Minjeong chews her lip and hugs her knees while Jimin slides on the clay like the ankle injury never happened.

They stay in a fancy hotel near the Eiffel Tower. Tournament accommodation. Every morning, they go down to a cafe for pastries and coffee before heading to the tournament grounds.

"People are staring," Jimin says one morning, brushing a few crumbs off the side of the table.

"Because you're hot and famous," Minjeong replies without looking up from her phone.

"You say that like you're not also hot and famous."

"I'm more mysterious, I think."

Jimin snorts, nudging her foot against Minjeong's under the table. "Mysterious my ass. You're just super awkward in interviews."

Minjeong kicks her in the shin. Jimin yelps.

The first week of Roland Garros flies by. Jimin moves better each match. She takes out a tricky left handed player in the third round with a two set win and breathes easier afterward.

Minjeong survives a near upset in round two and plays better in round three.

They debrief over their matches at the end of each day.

"You looked good today," Jimin says after one of Minjeong's wins, letting out a low whistle. "Forehand put the fear of God in me."

Minjeong grins. "Guess the Rome clay prepared me well."

Jimin chuckles, then looks at her girlfriend fondly. "You're winning the whole thing."

Minjeong waves her off. "No, you are."

One evening, after a match where Jimin came back from a set down, they walk by the Seine hand in hand.

"You limped a little in the second set," Minjeong says.

"Only a little."

"Well, I noticed."

"You notice everything."

They stop on a bridge and look out toward the water. Minjeong brushes her thumb over Jimin's knuckles.

"Do you know I'd probably lose my mind if you weren't here?" Minjeong says softly, suddenly.

And it's true.

Being a tennis player is all Minjeong has ever wanted, but it isn't easy. You're on the move constantly. Sometimes you wake up and forget what country you're even in. You spend all your time surrounded by coaches and reporters and fans, but you still feel alone.

Lose a match, and it's all on you. There's nobody else to pick up your slack or for you to put the blame on. The silences after a bad result are deafening. The flights feel longer and more exhausting. Hotel rooms become quieter. Even the wins don't feel as sweet anymore.

But Jimin gets it. She knows. Because she lives it with her.

She knows how demanding the schedule is. She knows how it feels to want something so badly it hurts. She knows how the press can turn on you after one bad day on court.

And even more than that, Jimin sees her. Not just the competitor she is. Not just the public facing Kim Minjeong. But her. All of her. The parts she doesn't show anyone else.

Jimin turns to her with a knowing smile then.

"I'd lose my mind too."

The second week comes with a lot more pressure. 

They barely have time to breathe now, but they still manage to carve out time for each other in between practices and press and all the chaos.

"I want this so bad," Minjeong whispers one night as they lay together, fresh off their convincing quarterfinal wins.

"You can do it, baby."

Minjeong turns her face into Jimin's neck. "Not if you're in the way."

Jimin giggles. "I'm always in your way."

This time, though, Jimin won't be.

While Minjeong grits it out and earns her spot in the final, The World No. 1 falls just short.

Minjeong doesn't know whether to feel relieved or completely heartbroken about it.

The player Jimin goes out to is one she's beaten before. Twice, actually. A hard hitting Czech with a flat backhand and an exhausting return game. On paper, Jimin should have handled it. Even with her ankle not quite one hundred percent.

But tennis is like that some days.

She bows out of the tournament in a straight set defeat.

6-4, 7-6(5).

Minjeong watches from the players' lounge that day, at a loss for words.

She should be elated for herself. She's just made the first grand slam final of her career, after all, but she aches as the camera zooms in on Jimin leaving the court. Disappointed. Disheartened with the result.

They were both ready. Both prepared to see each other across the net on the biggest stage. Saturday, the final on Philippe Chatrier. Everything was building toward that.

Sadly, it won't happen.

Jimin doesn't say much that evening.

She comes back to the hotel, cap covering her eyes and her hood up. Minjeong meets her at the door and doesn't say anything either. She simply opens her arms and lets Jimin collapse into them.

They don't talk for a while.

Jimin lays on the couch with her head in Minjeong's lap and her eyes closed.

Eventually, she speaks up to say, "I should've pulled it back in the second. I had my chances."

Minjeong rubs her scalp soothingly. "You did everything you could."

"No. I didn't."

"Yes, you did. It just wasn't your day."

Jimin doesn't argue again. 

She's fine the next morning.

Not pretending to be, but genuinely fine.

Back to moving around the hotel room with a pep in her step. Cracking dumb jokes and being an absolute menace to Minjeong.

And Minjeong is baffled.

Yu Jimin lost a Grand Slam semifinal yesterday and today she can't even bring herself to give a shit.

Minjeong supposes it's probably easier to get over a loss like that when you've already won everything. When you've got all four majors under your belt and your name is engraved on each one of those trophies.

Minjeong hasn't done that yet. She's still chasing. Still waiting for her own dream to come true.

That night, Minjeong is nearly asleep when she hears Jimin's voice cut through the silence.

"So…" Jimin starts, her head on Minjeong's shoulder. "You gonna get revenge for me?"

"...What?"

"The Czech girl. In the final."

Minjeong hums. Doesn't answer.

Jimin nudges her side. "I'm serious. She robbed me. You've gotta restore some honor to our household."

Minjeong snorts, her eyes still shut. "Right."

Jimin shifts until they're facing each other. Until there's barely an inch between their noses. "You can beat her, you know."

"She's good."

"And? So are you."

Minjeong opens her eyes.

"Do you remember what it says above the stadium?" Jimin asks. "Right when you walk onto Chatrier?"

Minjeong frowns, then nods slowly. "Victory belongs to the most tenacious."

"Yeah." Jimin smiles. "That's you, baby."

Minjeong doesn't respond right away, but she feels her heart swell.

"I'm scared," she finally admits with a sigh.

"I know," Jimin says as her thumb rubs slow circles into Minjeong's shoulder. "But you're ready. And if anyone deserves this, it's you. Fight for it."

Minjeong kisses her. 

They wake before the sun rises.

Minjeong blinks up at the ceiling as her heart hammers in her chest. Finals day. Grand Slam title on the line. Her first.

Jimin stirs next to her, eyes still bleary with sleep. Her arms curl around Minjeong's waist.

"You okay?" Jimin murmurs, her lips brushing Minjeong's shoulder.

Minjeong nods. Then she hesitates. "Nervous."

Jimin lifts her head to meet her eyes. "That's normal."

She leans in, pushes Minjeong's hair away from her face, and presses a kiss to her temple. Then another to the tip of her nose. Her cheek. Her lips. 

"Whatever happens out there... You've already made it. You've already proved everything you need to. But I still think you're gonna win."

Minjeong swallows the lump in her throat. "Why?"

Jimin rests her forehead against hers. "Because you're the most tenacious person I know."

Minjeong chuckles. "That sign really got to you, huh?"

Jimin grins and kisses her again, her fingers resting at Minjeong's neck. When she pulls back, her eyes are shining.

"Go win your first major," she says. "I love you."

Philippe Chatrier is packed that afternoon. 

Her name is announced. Kim Minjeong, first time Grand Slam finalist. It barely even registers.

Minjeong is taking it all in. All the banners and the applause. How the court feels more alive than she's ever felt it.

She's been here before in the player box on finals day. Watching Jimin, of course. She's seen the ceremony and trophy and all the tears shed. But never like this. Never from the center of the court. Never with her name echoing across the grounds.

It's her final. Her moment.

Minjeong takes a deep breath and steps onto the court.

The first set is brutal.

The Czech girl who'd beaten Jimin in the semifinals comes out swinging. She hits clean and deep. Minjeong struggles to find a rhythm. Her feet feel heavy and her reactions aren't quick enough. She holds serve a couple of times, but she really has to fight for it. The pressure is immense.

She goes down 2-5. Fights back to 4-5.

But it slips away. A netted backhand on set point and the set is gone, 4-6. So is her racket, which she slams angrily into the clay.

She picks up its broken pieces and walks back to her chair, frustrated. The match is fast and the crowd is deafeningly loud. The moment feels massive. Too massive.

Then she looks up.

Jimin's on her feet in the player box. Her hand is raised and she's gesturing.

Minjeong squints. Jimin taps two fingers against her temple.

Think.

Minjeong nods and turns back toward the court.

She towels off her face. Tightens the grip on her new racket. Sets out a strategy for herself.

The second set is a different match.

Minjeong digs. She starts looping her forehands high and heavy to the Czech girl's backhand. Drags her out wide and then steps in to attack the open court. She draws errors. Breaks early. Serves smarter. Holds her nerve in long deuce games.

By 4-1, the crowd senses it. The energy's shifted. Minjeong's timing is clean now. Her footwork is sharp.

Jimin watches with her hand over her heart and her breath caught with every passing rally.

Minjeong takes the second set 6-2. She doesn't make a big show of it. Just clenches her fist once and walks back to her chair, hitting the clay off her shoes with her racket.

It's going the distance.

The rallies are nonstop in the third set. The clay's flying. Shoes squeaking. Minjeong's calves are screaming, but she doesn't slow down. Even when she's down love-40 on serve, she toughs it out. Holds for 5-4.

And then, she puts pressure on her opponent's service game, earns a well deserved break point. 30-40.

Her first match point. Championship point.

She can feel Jimin watching. Can feel her belief radiating from the box.

Her opponent bounces the ball three times. Minjeong crouches low on the baseline and locks in.

Wide serve.

Minjeong reads it and moves early.

Backhand.

She drives through it, and it flies down the line. Landing just inside the edge.

The stadium erupts.

Minjeong's knees buckle and she collapses onto the red clay. Her hands immediately fly to her mouth.

She won.

She won Roland Garros.

She gets up slowly and unsteadily, jogs to the net where her opponent is waiting. They shake hands, and then she turns toward the player box.

She's barely taken a step before the usher approaches her, motioning to the side of the court. She nods and follows past the cameras and photographers pressing forward. 

Jimin's already halfway down the stairs, reaching for her.

Minjeong takes the last steps two at a time and throws herself into her arms.

And now she's crying. Full on sobbing.

Jimin holds her tight and starts crying too, hand cradling the back of Minjeong's head.

"You were perfect," Jimin says, her voice watery. "You were—God, Minjeongie, you were unbelievable."

The trophy is heavy in Minjeong's hands. 

Minjeong places it on the stand behind her, then stands at the microphone to give her winner's speech, eyes still wet with tears. She smiles, then swallows.

"I'm not sure I ever believed this would happen," she begins. "I wanted it. I dreamed about it. Now I'm so grateful I finally get to feel this for myself."

She goes on to congratulate her opponent. Thanks the crowd, tournament organizers, ball kids, her team, her coach, the people who stayed with her through everything. She thanks her family watching back home, who she knows are probably crying harder than she is.

Then Minjeong looks up. Eyes landing on the one person she loves more than anything in this world.

"And Jimin..." Her voice wavers. "You've been in every part of this journey with me. You know what it takes to get here. You've held me through every heartbreak and bad match I didn't think I'd come back from."

Minjeong pauses, grinning through her tears.

"And, okay, fine. Sometimes you were the heartbreak. I think you beat me five times before I ever got a single win on you, so... thanks for that, I guess."

The crowd laughs. So does Jimin. She covers her face and shakes her head with a smile.

"But you made me better. You pushed me. You believed in me, even when I didn't. Even when I wanted to give up."

Minjeong wipes her eyes. Jimin follows suit.

"So this is for you too."

Jimin mouths the words I love you from where she stands.

Minjeong nods, more tears spilling down her cheeks.

Then she lifts the trophy again. 

The expensive bottle of champagne is left untouched on the coffee table.

Ridding their clothes was the first order of business as soon as they got back to the hotel.

Minjeong kisses Jimin lazily, and Jimin's head tips back against the pillow, her fingers tangling into Minjeong's hair.

"Still feeling like a champion?" Jimin teases, breath catching when Minjeong's teeth graze her bottom lip.

Minjeong smirks against her mouth. "Kind of hard not to when you're looking at me like that."

"I'm indulging you," Jimin murmurs.

Minjeong kisses her again. "Keep indulging."

Her lips start to trail downward, fluttering kisses along Jimin's throat, her chest, then her stomach.

Jimin watches through half lidded eyes. "You know, it's usually the champion who gets spoiled."

Minjeong grins into her skin. "You spoil me every day. Let me return the favor for once."

Jimin starts to speak, but the words die on her tongue the moment Minjeong settles between her legs. She feels her warm breath ghosting there and gasps softly, hips twitching.

"Something to say?" Minjeong asks as she presses a kiss to Jimin's inner thigh. 

Jimin exhales shakily, hand reaching down to card through Minjeong's hair once more. "No, just," she breathes, "keep going, princess."

Minjeong hums. Jimin lets out a weak laugh that melts into another gasp when Minjeong pushes her nose between her folds, slowly licking up.

"Oh—fuck."

Minjeong's tongue circles around her clit, lapping up her wetness, and Jimin whimpers, tugging on her hair as her hips rock up into Minjeong's mouth.

"Baby."

Minjeong presses her face deeper, curling her tongue and plunging it into her heat.

Jimin swears she sees stars.

She fucks Jimin with her tongue, pulsing it in and out. Minjeong wants every bit of her. Every part that her lips and tongue haven't touched. It's a far sweeter prize than the trophy perched on the other side of the room.

"Wanna cum on your fingers," Jimin whines desperately. "So close, I'm getting so close."

Minjeong picks her head up and crawls up her body, lips crashing onto Jimin's so she can taste herself. She slips her hand between Jimin's legs.

"Minjeong," Jimin gasps.

Minjeong pushes into her with two fingers, curling them, and the moan it coaxes from Jimin's lips is breathtaking. Her own body jerks with pleasure at how soaked she is, just for her, wetness soaking her palm as it slaps up against her clit. Her upper arm aches from thrusting over and over again, and Jimin squeezes tight around her, chest rising and falling as her breath leaves her in pants.

"I'm gonna cum."

"Cum for me, baby," Minjeong encourages her.

Jimin breaks apart. Her whole body jerks, soaking Minjeong's fingers. Minjeong keeps fucking her through the aftershocks, and by the time she's done, Jimin's body lays limp beneath her, eyes closed, trying to catch her breath.

After a few moments, Jimin's eyes open. She gazes up at Minjeong with a sated smile.

"You should win majors more often," she offers, voice still a bit hoarse. "I like the perks."

Minjeong giggles and collapses beside her, draping an arm across her stomach.

"Maybe I'll win Wimbledon."

"Yeah right." Jimin scoffs. "You're terrible on grass."

Minjeong narrows her eyes and pinches Jimin's side. Jimin squirms.

Chapter Text

The morning after her Roland Garros win, Minjeong poses in front of the Eiffel Tower for the winner's photoshoot. She clutches the trophy and grins like she's still half asleep.

Because honestly, she is.

She and Jimin had stayed up all night. They decided to open that bottle of champagne and continued jumping each other's bones.

A choice Minjeong is seriously regretting now. Her head is pounding and her legs are cramping. The sun is shining on her in the worst possible way.

She's too hungover for this.

She shifts the trophy awkwardly from hand to hand between shots. Prays that she doesn't drop it. It's heavier than she remembers it being during the ceremony. 

Behind the camera, the photographer asks for a few more poses. Minjeong curses him out in her head, but straightens up. Forces her smile a little wider despite the fact that her cheeks are beginning to ache.

It's a miracle she gets through the entire thing without passing out.

By the time Minjeong makes it to the hotel, she's dragging her feet. Jimin laughs under her breath as she watches her stagger in all zombie like.

"Hey, champ."

Minjeong just grunts in response. She doesn't even make it to the bed before she drops face first onto the carpet.

Jimin steps over her body, unbothered with her phone in hand. "You're trending again."

"Mmph," Minjeong mumbles into the floor.

"And—" Jimin's voice lilts, "the photos came out."

Minjeong lifts her head. "Are they bad?"

"They're iconic," Jimin replies, snorting. "You kind of look like a dazed raccoon, babe."

Minjeong throws a weak punch at her ankle. Jimin dodges it.

"Hey," Jimin waves her phone in the air. "I'm just saying, when I won Roland Garros, my photoshoot was a bit more classy."

Minjeong glares at her. "Didn't you almost drop the trophy into the Seine?"

"A bold creative choice."

Minjeong groans louder and rolls onto her back. "I'm too tired to fight you."

Jimin grins as she lowers herself down beside her.

Minjeong shuts her eyes and dozes off right there on the carpet. Jimin could melt at how cute she looks.

She picks Minjeong up and carries her quietly to bed. Tucks her in. She grabs her phone again and settles next to her.

She scrolls back to the photos from the shoot. Minjeong squinting against the sun. Hair tousled from the wind and holding onto the trophy for dear life. Too precious for words.

There's one picture in particular where she's laughing. Her whole face is lit up, the happiness oozing out of her.

Jimin pauses on that one. Smiles real wide.

She taps it and sets it as her lock screen. 

They snooze away most of the afternoon. When Minjeong wakes up, it's because Jimin is making far too much noise packing her suitcase.

"We have a flight to catch, my love," Jimin says with an innocent smile.

"Who the hell decided we were flying today?" Minjeong grumbles.

"You did," Jimin chirps. "You said, 'Let's go to Berlin early so I can get used to the grass.'"

Minjeong sighs heavily. That does sound like something she would say.

She manages to drag herself upright and get ready. They leave the hotel behind and head straight for Charles de Gaulle.

On the private flight there (the perks of dating the World No. 1, as Jimin so obnoxiously puts it), Jimin successfully syncs her phone to the speakers and puts 99 Luftballons on full blast. 

Minjeong sinks into her seat. She covers her face in embarrassment as she listens to her girlfriend butcher the lyrics and mimic a German accent.

"You know you're not actually speaking German, right?"

Jimin simply shrugs.

"You are the most annoying person I've ever met."

They drop their things and change into their practice gear as soon as they arrive at the hotel. Head off to the courts for a short hit.

Minjeong needs all the practice she can get. Playing on grass is not her thing. It doesn't come as naturally to her as clay does. It's fast. Slippery. The ball bounces too low for her liking.

Jimin, on the contrary, looks like she's right at home. Her game has always been better suited for it.

"Be careful out there, Bambi," Jimin teases as she steps onto her side of the court.

Minjeong scowls and serves. It's wobbly and terrible, and lands halfway up the net.

"Lovely," Jimin deadpans.

They rally lightly for a few minutes. Jimin moves gracefully and makes her volleys and drop shots look effortless, while Minjeong… does her best to stay on her feet.

After one particularly bad attempt at sliding into a forehand, Minjeong slips and ends up flat on her ass. The effort earns her a huge grass stain on her white shorts.

Jimin laughs so hard she drops her racket.

"I hate this so much," Minjeong moans on the ground.

They get a wildcard into the doubles draw. Because, well, the tournament director has eyes and would obviously like ticket sales to go up. What better way to do that than pair the happy couple up on court?

The match itself, though, leaves a lot to be desired. It reminds them why they focus their attention solely on singles.

They crash out in the first round. Lots of miscommunication. Missed poaches. Too much laughing.

At one point, Jimin tries to smash a volley and completely misjudges it. She nails Minjeong square in the ass.

"Ow!" Minjeong yelps, spinning around to glare at her.

"Sorry!" Jimin shouts.

They lose in straight sets and giggle their way up to the net to shake their opponent's hands.

Neither of them wins the singles title either. Jimin loses in the semifinal and Minjeong bows out even earlier. Shocker.

But Berlin is fun. Lighthearted. 

They spend the rest of their time there avoiding the courts like the plague. Rent bikes and ride them along the river. Jimin nearly crashes into a hotdog stand when Minjeong dares her to ride with no hands. 

They also spend hours wandering museums. Minjeong pretends to be an art critic and sputters absolute nonsense just to hear Jimin's adorable laugh.

At night, they order room service and rewatch Minjeong's Roland Garros final because Jimin insists.

"I just like seeing you cry happy tears," Jimin explains to her, cuddling into Minjeong's side.

After Berlin, Minjeong figures she could use some more matches on grass.

So while Jimin takes a few more days off to rest her body, Minjeong heads to Eastbourne. It's a smaller event along the southern coast of England. 

Jimin tags along for moral support.

Minjeong plays a lot better there. Gets sharper with each match and moves more naturally on the surface. She doesn't win the tournament, but the run is something to be proud of. Her best showing at a grass tournament in years.

"Good tune-up," Jimin says after Minjeong's last match, giving her a kiss. "You're peaking at the right time."

Minjeong snorts. "Tell that to the British press."

Because even before Wimbledon officially begins, the chatter starts.

The Word No. 1 and reigning Australian Open champion. The reigning French Open champion. Tennis's golden couple. 

Minjeong's abysmal record on grass becomes one of the hottest topics.

Pundits dissect literally everything about her game. Articles with headlines like " Can Kim Minjeong Prove Herself on Grass?"  appear. Everyone is already writing her off for The Championships.

Perhaps it's all warranted, but it doesn't mean it doesn't bother Minjeong.

One afternoon, she's filtering through the headlines when Jimin reaches over and snatches her phone from her.

"Jimin!"

"No," Jimin says firmly, tossing it onto the bed. She leans over Minjeong and brackets her in with her arms. "You're not reading that garbage."

Minjeong sighs. "It's not garbage. Like… they're not really wrong. I'm not—"

"You're not," Jimin cuts her off. "You're just not giving them what they expect. That's their problem, not yours."

The knot in Minjeong's chest loosens a little.

"And who gives a shit what a bunch of washed up commentators think? Those losers were playing with wooden rackets back then. Their opinions don't matter," Jimin adds with a scoff.

That makes Minjeong laugh.

"You're my favorite, Minjeongie. No matter what."

Minjeong smiles and tips her head up to kiss her.

Wimbledon media day is a circus.

Minjeong sits at the front of the room for her press conference and tries not to fidget.

The questions start off simple.

"What's it like coming off your first Grand Slam title?"

Minjeong smiles bashfully. Tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

"It still doesn't feel real," she admits. "Sometimes I wake up and wonder if I dreamed it."

"Are you feeling any pressure?"

She shrugs.

"Probably less than I should be? It's easy to get caught up in expectations after winning a big title. I'm just trying to enjoy every moment on court."

The next question stings.

"Grass hasn't been your best surface. How are you adjusting?"

Minjeong pauses. She taps her fingers on the table.

"I'm learning," she says carefully. "It's different. It's faster and the points are a lot quicker, but I'm getting there with the help of my coaching team."

Then, inevitably…

"You and Yu Jimin are the talk of the season so far. How has that dynamic changed for you two, now that you're both Grand Slam champions?"

Minjeong chuckles this time. 

"I think it's changed more for you guys than for us," she says lightly. "We still fight over where we want to eat for dinner."

Another reporter chimes in. " Any plans to team up for doubles again? After Berlin, maybe to redeem yourselves?"

Minjeong chuckles again and shakes her head.

"We're gonna stick to singles for now," she answers. "We're not very good doubles players."

"What's it like competing alongside each other at this level?"

"It's..." Minjeong starts, then trails off, considering her words. "It's the best part."

And just like that, she's excused. She steps away from the mic and back into the halls of the All England Club.

Her phone buzzes immediately.

jimin:
"it's the best part" 🤪🥰

minjeong:
stfu 

Jimin's press conference is next. She's worse behaved. 

She strolls into the interview room wearing sunglasses and slouches in her chair.

The reporters ask the usual questions first. About her form. The semifinal loss at Roland Garros. Her plans for the summer.

Jimin answers them all easily.

But she perks up a bit more when Minjeong's name comes up.

"What's it like seeing your girlfriend win her first Slam this year?"

Jimin smiles.

"Yeah, she's a Grand Slam champion now," she says as she leans back in her chair. "Took her long enough."

Jimin's agent pinches the bridge of his nose while the rest of the journalists in the room chuckle.

"But seriously," Jimin says after a beat, "I've obviously always known how good she is. Now the rest of the world knows too."

By the time she exits the room, she's skipping down the hallway. Her phone vibrates in her pocket and she pulls it out. A new text from Minjeong.

minjeong:
took me long enough?? 🖕

Jimin smirks at the screen and offers the simplest of replies.

jimin:
ily 😘 

Minjeong's first match comes two days later. On Court No. 1. 

The grass feels slippery during the warm-up. So much different from Paris and Melbourne. She tells herself it's fine. She's adjusted. 

She can do this.

The match is pretty scrappy, but Minjeong stays in it. She keeps her legs low and her swings compact. Wins the first set in a tiebreak and claws through the second set with a few heavy forehands that even she's a little surprised by.

When she seals the match with a crosscourt winner, she looks toward her box, right at Jimin, and pumps her fist.

Jimin lifts her hands above her head and claps agonizingly slow. Minjeong rolls her eyes and smiles.

Later, when she's slipping her racket bag onto her shoulder and waving to the crowd, her phone buzzes in her bag.

jimin:
not bad for a clay merchant

minjeong:
i'm a threat on every surface tyvm

jimin:
ok clay merchant

Minjeong laughs on the way back to the locker room.

The next day, it's Jimin's turn.

Minjeong sits in her box this time. Her cap is pulled low over her head and there's a lanyard swinging from her neck with her accreditation. She chews her gum nervously and watches Jimin stretch and bounce on the baseline.

Minjeong admires how calm she is. Even here, at Wimbledon, where the stakes seem to be higher than anywhere else.

The match begins, and Jimin's opponent is solid, but she's really no match for the World No. 1. Not when Jimin moves on the grass like she's floating. Her footwork is flawless, the angles on her shots so precise that they keep pulling her opponent off the court again and again. Minjeong could only imagine how frustrated she'd be if she were in her opponent's shoes.

Toward the end of the first set, Jimin threads a ridiculous backhand pass up the line that makes Minjeong's jaw drop.

Her girlfriend is way too good. Jimin knows it too. She puts her hand up to her ear and encourages the audience to make more noise.

Minjeong rolls her eyes fondly. 

It's no shock that Jimin wins the match easily. She barely even breaks a sweat.

When they meet up by the private players' entrance after, Minjeong loops her arm around Jimin's.

"You're so showy," Minjeong says, scrunching her nose.

Jimin grins. "I know you think it's attractive."

Minjeong does. 

Minjeong's second round isn't quite the same.

The grass feels even trickier this time. The ball skids and dies before she can set her feet properly. Her opponent isn't a big name, but she's clever. Makes everything difficult for her. It's death by a thousand cuts.

Minjeong fights. She always fights. But the timing feels half a beat off.

Jimin's in her box again, sunglasses pushed up into her hair this time, lips pressed in a thin line. Minjeong catches her gaze during a changeover and tries to smile.

Jimin claps softly and encourages her to keep going.

Minjeong does. She drags the match into a deciding set. The sun is casting annoying shadows and her legs feel heavy, but still, she fights.

When her final forehand drifts out, and the umpire's voice announces the score, Minjeong sighs.

The crowd claps politely as she gathers her things. She lifts her racket up in a little wave. Walks off without looking at the player box.

Once she's off court, Minjeong finally lets her shoulders sag. She sits down behind a sponsor board with a towel covering her face.

A few minutes later, Jimin finds her. She crouches down in front of her and slides a hand onto her knee.

Minjeong shrugs the towel off and looks at her.

"Gonna call me a clay merchant again?"

Jimin smiles sympathetically. "Not today, baby."

Minjeong leans into her and rests her forehead against Jimin's.

Jimin makes it all the way to the quarterfinals.

It's not a perfect run. There are patches where she looks almost human instead of the well oiled machine she usually is. 

Minjeong watches it all unfold from the player box, nerves winding tighter with every round. Jimin's lifted the Wimbledon trophy before. There's a popular photo of her with her knees on the grass and the trophy held against her chest. The odds on her to win it again this year are higher than they have ever been.

Maybe those high expectations are why the quarterfinal feels a little cruel.

Her opponent has nothing to lose. Swings as if she's weightless. Jimin plays well, but grass can be ruthless to even the best, and on this day, the margins don't fall her way.

A clipped net cord here.

A few double faults there.

A final rally that sees Jimin's backhand drifting long.

The match ends and the crowd murmurs in surprise. Jimin jogs up to the net and shakes her opponent's hand, wishing her luck for the semis.

She doesn't throw a tantrum, but she's clearly not jumping for joy either. 

Minjeong finds her in the players' lounge after, laying on a sofa.

"Hi," Minjeong greets softly, sitting down by Jimin's feet.

Jimin shifts to glance at her. Smiles wryly.

"I'm fine," Jimin says, before Minjeong can even pose the question.

"You sure?" Minjeong asks, rubbing her ankle.

"Already got the trophy at home."

Minjeong reaches out and laces their fingers together. "You were awesome," she still offers, in spite of the result. "Still my World No. 1."

Jimin squeezes her hand.

Of course, the press has a field day with their early Wimbledon exits.

Headlines flood in. Distraction Disaster? , Tennis's Sweethearts Losing Focus?

At breakfast the next morning, Minjeong tosses her phone across the table with a groan.

"Apparently we're ruining each other's careers now."

Jimin smirks over her cup of coffee. "Good. Let them think that. Less pressure for the US Open."

Minjeong takes a bite of her croissant and speaks with her mouth full. "You say that now. Wait till we're both seeded like twenty-eighth."

Jimin leans her chin onto her hand. "Mm. Maybe. But right now…" She reaches across the table and takes Minjeong's hand. "I think we should forget about tennis for a bit."

Minjeong swallows. Then she blinks. "Forget?"

"Yeah." Jimin lets go of Minjeong's hand and sits back. Stretches in her chair with a tiny grin. "Let's be idiots in London for the day."

They start at Borough Market. It's super crowded as expected. Tourists everywhere. Locals weaving between stalls, too.

Minjeong drags Jimin toward a stand selling strawberries dipped in chocolate. Jimin pays, and it's not long before there's chocolate dripping down Minjeong's chin. Jimin licks it off with zero shame. 

They sample too many things. Especially the cider. They're both a little buzzed when they leave and stumble around the city hand in hand.

Somewhere along the way, they wander past a storefront with a neon sign. 

A sex shop.

Minjeong stops in her tracks.

Jimin stops too and follows her gaze.

"You wanna—?" Jimin asks, a grin already forming over her lips.

Minjeong shrugs. "When in London?"

That's how they end up inside.

The shop is cramped and dusty. The shelves are lined with every ridiculous thing imaginable.

Minjeong makes a beeline toward a rack of bright feather ticklers. She grabs one and waves it in Jimin's face.

Jimin backs up with her hands raised, laughing.

Minjeong smirks and tosses it back onto the rack.

Further down, Jimin picks up a set of nipple clamps and inspects them in her hand.

"Do you even know how to use those?" Minjeong says as she peers over her shoulder.

"Nope. You wanna find out?"

Minjeong shoves her lightly. "Freak."

They dissolve into giggles, attracting a few curious glances from the shop attendant.

Eventually, Jimin picks up a box and flashes it at Minjeong.

"We should totally get this."

Minjeong raises an eyebrow. "A strap-on?"

"Why not?"

They giggle on their way to the counter, the box tucked under Jimin's arm along with a bottle of lube in her hand. Minjeong tries to keep a straight face while the cashier rings them up, but Jimin bumps her hip at the last second, and she snorts.

Jimin lifts the bag triumphantly once they spill back onto the street, squinting into the sun.

"Souvenir secured," she jokes.

Minjeong's cheeks are flushed pink.

"I cannot believe we just bought that."

The remnants of their day out are scattered across the kitchen table a few hours later.

And in the middle of the bed where they're laying together, is the box from the sex shop.

Minjeong stares at it.

Jimin catches her and grins. "You're looking at it like it's a bomb."

"It might as well be," Minjeong mutters.

"We paid for it," Jimin reminds her. "Should see what it's all about, no?"

Minjeong huffs out a breath, flopping onto her back. "Okay, fine. Open it."

Jimin chuckles and leans over to press a kiss to her cheek. "Love the enthusiasm."

Minjeong swats at Jimin, but she can't stop the smile creeping up to her lips.

Setting it up is no easy task.

Jimin spends ten minutes just trying to figure out which strap goes where. Then she tries to tighten the buckles and gets the whole thing tangled so badly she almost trips stepping into it.

Minjeong is doubled over with laughter by the time Jimin wrestles it into place, adjusting the straps around her hips angrily.

"So elegant," Minjeong says, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes.

"You fucking try it," Jimin grumbles.

Minjeong just shakes her head, still giggling.

After a bit more fumbling, Jimin manages to get the damn thing fitted right.

Minjeong's laughter finally quiets down when Jimin hooks down her panties and starts pressing soft kisses along the insides of her thighs.

Minjeong's breath hitches, fingers gripping the sheets as she looks down at Jimin.

"Still wanna do this?" Jimin murmurs.

Minjeong nods, already slick from the attention alone. "Please."

Jimin smiles against her skin and kisses higher, coaxing soft whimpers from Minjeong, until she's trembling with anticipation. 

Only then does Jimin's head abandon the spot between her legs. She reaches over to grab the lube off the nightstand, slicking her fingers with it. She slips them into Minjeong and eases her open slowly.

Minjeong gasps, and Jimin murmurs some soft words of encouragement in her ear before pulling her fingers out. She slicks the dildo with the lube as well, positioning it at Minjeong's entrance. When she eases into her, Minjeong's lips part silently.

"Is that okay, baby?" Jimin whispers, holding off on thrusting. She lets Minjeong adjust to the feeling of it inside her first, kissing all the skin her lips can reach.

"Yeah… it's good," Minjeong gets out quietly, her heart swelling at Jimin's gentleness and how much she adores her.

Jimin starts moving. She thrusts slowly, then builds a rhythm that has Minjeong gasping and arching beneath her. 

"You're doing so good," Jimin tells her as Minjeong writhes. "I've got you."

"Faster," Minjeong begs. "Jimin—please."

Jimin listens. She picks up the pace and Minjeong clings to her. Feels like she's floating with every one of Jimin's thrusts.

"Fuck," Minjeong moans, her breaths coming quicker. "Jimin…"

Jimin knows she's close by the way Minjeong says her name. She kisses her hard. 

"That's it, baby… cum all over it for me," Jimin urges, breathless as she thrusts harder, deeper.

It doesn't take long for Minjeong to come. She does it with a sharp gasp into Jimin's shoulder, her nails digging into the skin of her back. Jimin hisses softly.

Afterward, Jimin strips the whole contraption off and tosses it to an empty corner of the room.

She crawls back into bed and tangles up with Minjeong.

Minjeong hides her face against Jimin's chest, spent and grinning. 

"Cum all over it for me," she mocks Jimin's deep voice.

"Shut the fuck up," Jimin laughs, her cheeks burning red. 

In the morning, Jimin stretches as the sheets slip away from her body. Minjeong burrows deeper under the covers.

"Baby, my legs are broken," Minjeong mumbles.

"My back is broken," Jimin says cheerfully, rolling onto her side to grin at Minjeong. "Worth it, though."

Suddenly, Jimin's phone begins buzzing violently on the nightstand.

Jimin groans and grabs it. Squints at the screen.

And then she bursts out laughing.

"What's going on?" Minjeong asks as she rubs her eyes, sitting up slowly.

Jimin doesn't answer. She's too busy laughing. So hard her stomach hurts.

"What!?" Minjeong repeats, her voice shriller as she reaches for the phone.

Jimin tosses it at her. She's nearly in tears.

Minjeong looks at it and sees a photo of them walking into the sex shop. 

She freezes. Blood drains from her face.

"Oh no," she breathes.

Jimin snatches the phone back and scrolls. "There's a whole series! Look, this one's from when you held the door open for me."

"Jimin." Minjeong looks genuinely panicked now, burying her face in her hands. "My family is going to see this!"

"They might not recognize the shop."

"It's literally called 'Sex Palace.'"

Jimin wheezes. "Okay, yeah, that's unfortunate."

Minjeong flops backward onto the bed and grabs a pillow. 

Jimin opens the Twitter app. Her thumbs are flying. "They're having a field day. Look at these headlines! 'Tennis Golden Girls Caught Shopping for More Than Trophies.'”

Minjeong screams into the pillow. 

Jimin puts her phone back on the nightstand and crawls over Minjeong, kissing her cheek.

"Hey," she says, grinning. "At least they don't have videos of what happened after."

Minjeong pushes Jimin off her.

"I'm never showing my face in public again."

"Guess we have to live in this rental forever."

Minjeong looks at her with a pout. "You think this'll blow over?"

"Sure," Jimin says. "Or we're gonna become international sex symbols. I'm fine either way."

Minjeong throws daggers at her. But it doesn't last long when Jimin crawls on top of her and kisses her again.

The day drags on.

Even when they try to ignore their phones, the story follows them.

Minjeong sinks into the couch, her hood pulled up over her head.

Jimin lounges beside her with her feet on the table, shoving kernels of popcorn into her mouth.

She catches Minjeong sneaking glances at her phone every few minutes, shoulders hunching a little more each time.

"You're going to give yourself a hunchback," Jimin says through a mouthful, nudging Minjeong's knee.

Minjeong rolls her eyes.

"I worked my ass off to be a tennis player but this is what I'll be known for now," she mutters.

Jimin scoots closer, rubbing Minjeong's thigh. 

"It could be worse? We could've been caught doing something illegal."

"My mom's going to cry."

"She already does when she watches you play."

Minjeong shoves her. Jimin laughs and slides off the couch.

"Enough moping. Get up."

Jimin taps on her phone. A moment later, How Deep Is Your Love starts playing.

Minjeong shoots her a bewildered look.

"Why are you playing the Bee Gees?"

"Because I love this song and want to dance with you."

Jimin sticks her hand out. Minjeong hesitates for a second before taking it. 

"My girlfriend is batshit insane," she mutters under her breath.

Jimin just grins and pulls her in.

Minjeong huffs but lets herself be guided, arms slipping around Jimin's neck as they sway together. 

It's stupid. 

Sweet. 

Them.

"You can't even dance," Minjeong points out.

"Good thing you're here to make me look better," Jimin says as her hands settle on Minjeong's waist.

Minjeong tucks her head against Jimin's shoulder and breathes her in. It's easy to forget about all the background noise when Jimin holds her close like this. The early Wimbledon exit, the dumb pictures, everything.

And Jimin knows what she's doing. Trying to take her mind off it. Minjeong has never loved someone more.

"I'm so in love with you," Jimin murmurs sweetly.

Minjeong smiles for the first time that day. She tightens her arms around her.

"I know," Minjeong says. "I love you too."

Jimin wakes up early the next morning, scrolling idly on her phone with her free hand. The other is resting on Minjeong's waist.

Minjeong groans and buries her face into Jimin's shoulder.

"How bad is it today?" she mumbles.

Jimin chuckles. "The photos?"

Minjeong hums.

"They've already moved on," Jimin answers, ruffling a hand through Minjeong's hair. "Some soccer player cheated on his wife. Those kinky tennis lesbos are old news."

Minjeong lifts her head enough to glare at Jimin.

Jimin leaves her phone off to the side and pulls Minjeong closer. 

They have another flight in a few hours. Their next stop is North America where the hard courts await them again. 

"We'll be better," Minjeong says suddenly, her voice soft against Jimin's collarbone. "Hard court swing, we'll prove them wrong."

"You don't have to prove anything to anyone," Jimin says, kissing the top of her head.

Minjeong looks up. "Not even you?"

Jimin smiles. "Never."

Chapter Text

They land in D.C. just before golden hour.

It's the official start of their North American hardcourt swing. No more grass. No more London. No more press headlines and memes of them walking out of that sex shop.

Minjeong is grateful to leave it all behind.

Or she was. Until ten minutes before touchdown. When Jimin had elbowed her in the middle of a toast and dumped an entire mimosa into her lap.

"Don't look at me," Minjeong mutters, holding her purse in front of the stain as they descend the steps of the jet. "You've done enough."

"Babe, I said I was sorry."

"You laughed for five minutes straight."

"It was kind of funny," Jimin replies, trailing behind in her sunglasses and joggers. "Should've seen your face."

"It's not funny, Jimin! I'm wearing light gray!"

Jimin snorts. "And it looks like you pissed yourself."

Minjeong groans and ducks her head. She can feel the sticky drink clinging to her thighs despite blotting at it with three napkins earlier. "You're the reason I have trust issues."

"You're the reason I drink," Jimin counters cheerfully, stepping around Minjeong to reach the waiting car.

Minjeong is still stewing in silence when they pull up to the hotel. She catches some curious glances at the front of her sweatpants as soon as they're in the lobby. Jimin notices and giggles.

Minjeong flips her off.

Inside their room, she heads straight for her suitcase. Peels off the sweatpants and mutters a few curse words under her breath that Jimin doesn't ask her to repeat.

"I'm showering," Minjeong calls from the bathroom, already pulling her shirt over her head.

"Take your time," Jimin says, flopping onto the bed and reaching for her phone. "I'll be here, not spilling anything."

They regroup half an hour later. Both dressed down in tank tops and shorts, ready to head out into the sweltering heat.

It's tradition for them to walk around D.C. the evening they arrive. It doesn't matter how tired they are or how many time zones they've crossed. 

Because this tournament was the start of them.

They walk along the boardwalk. Minjeong exhales as she tucks her hands into her pockets.

Jimin nudges her gently. "See? No one's staring at your pants anymore."

"That's because they're in the hotel trash, idiot."

Jimin grins. "Sorry. I know you really liked those ones."

"Whatever." Minjeong bumps her with her shoulder. "You're lucky you're hot."

"Facts."

They slow near the railing. For a moment, they just stand there, taking in everything around them.

"You ready?" Jimin wonders softly.

"Yeah," Minjeong says. "I think so."

Six Years Ago, Washington D.C.

It's hot. D.C. always is in late July.

Eighteen year old Minjeong is already out of the tournament.

She lost her second match in qualifying that morning. The serve wasn't working. Her legs felt like cinder blocks. She double faulted twice in the last game.

Now she's sulking in the shade near the practice courts. A cold water bottle pressed to her neck. Her wristbands still damp. She should be booking a flight home. Instead, she's just sitting, watching players hit. Staring at them almost longingly.

And then Yu Jimin jogs past her. 

Nineteen. Wildcard into the main draw. Rising star. Fellow countrywoman. They played in juniors a few times. Minjeong had her ass handed to her. Jimin's confident and loud. Smiles easily. Everyone is watching her.

Minjeong tries not to.

She definitely doesn't expect Jimin to turn on her heels and make her way back over to her.

"Hey," Jimin says, pulling her cap off and wiping the sweat off her forehead. "You're Kim Minjeong, right?"

Minjeong blinks. "Uh. Yeah."

"I saw your match this morning," Jimin tells her, hopping lightly in place. "Tough luck on the serve. Your groundstrokes are really good, though. You've gotten better since juniors."

Minjeong squints at her. "Thanks?"

Jimin just grins. "You heading out, or…?"

"I don't know yet."

"You should stay."

Minjeong raises a brow. "Why?"

Jimin shrugs. "I need a hitting partner. My coach said to find someone solid and consistent."

Minjeong snorts. "Is this how you compliment people?"

"Well, it's working, isn't it?"

Minjeong's not sure what annoys her more. Yu Jimin's charm or how well it is working on her. She also feels her heart doing something weird and fluttery.

"I'll text my coach," Jimin says, pulling her phone out of her bag. "Tell him I found someone."

Minjeong folds her arms over her chest. "You're not gonna ask if I even want to?"

Jimin glances up with a sly expression. "Do you?"

Minjeong should say no. She's tired and frustrated. Embarrassed about the way she played.

But instead, she hears herself ask, "What time?"

Jimin immediately lights up. "Court four. Thirty minutes."

Just like that, Minjeong doesn't leave D.C.

She stays. Picks up her racket again and spends the next two hours rallying with a girl who grins too much between points and keeps finding excuses to brush their shoulders at the net.

The next day is somehow hotter.

Minjeong swears the sun has beef with her. She applies sunscreen twice and still feels like she's being seared from the inside out. But she still shows up to court four, sweat collecting at the back of her neck.

Jimin's already there stretching against the fence. Her hair's tied up and her headphones are in. She looks like she really belongs here. Like she owns the court. Part of Minjeong resents her for it.

"Hey! You came back," Jimin greets, pulling out an earbud as soon as she sees her.

"You only texted me five times," Minjeong replies flatly.

"Persistence is a virtue."

Minjeong drops her bag near a bench and pulls out a racket. "It's a flaw."

"Noted." Jimin smirks, tossing her a ball. "Ready to get wrecked?"

They warm up again. The rallies are longer than yesterday. There's less stiffness and they develop more of a rhythm. Minjeong hits a sharp angle early on and hears Jimin mutter "damn" under her breath. It feels good. 

Sharing the court with Jimin feels good.

They finish a long baseline exchange and are both a little winded when Jimin walks to the net.

"You play like you've got something to prove." 

"That a compliment?"

"I'm just saying. You're pretty intense."

Minjeong shrugs. "I don't know how else to be."

Jimin leans on the net. "It's cool. I like that about you."

Minjeong stares at her. "You don't know anything about me."

"True," Jimin replies, cocking her head. "We should fix that."

"What do you mean?"

Jimin grins, all teeth. "Go out with me."

Minjeong blinks.

"I mean," Jimin adds, "we already spend our mornings sweating together. Might as well have dinner."

Minjeong tries not to laugh. "That's a terrible line."

"Yeah, but I'm cute."

"You think you're cute."

"I know I'm cute."

Minjeong rolls her eyes, but there's hardly any malice in it. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other and finally mumbles, "Alright. One dinner."

Jimin smiles real wide.

"Cool," she says. "Friday night. I'll find a place."

Minjeong shakes her head and turns back to her side of the court. "This better not be weird."

"It'll be amazing!" Jimin calls after her. "We're gonna have a great time."

Friday night rolls around.

Minjeong stands in front of the mirror in the hotel bathroom and fidgets with her shirt. She's changed her outfit twice. Almost texted Jimin to cancel. Then changed again.

She decides on a white crop top and jeans.

Jimin had told her to meet in the lobby at 7. She shows up at 6:59.

Jimin's waiting, leaning against the wall, eyes glued to her phone. She looks up right as Minjeong steps out of the elevator. Beams at her.

"Right on time," Jimin says, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

"You sound surprised."

"I am." Her eyes skim Minjeong up and down. "You look—"

"If you say 'nice,' I'm leaving."

Jimin chuckles. "Was gonna say 'cute,' actually."

Minjeong groans and pushes past her toward the door. "Let's go before you embarrass both of us."

Jimin follows her outside.

They walk to a Korean BBQ place a few blocks from the hotel. Jimin says she picked it because she figured they could both use something that feels like home.

Minjeong pretends that it doesn't make her heart swell a little.

They sit across from each other in a booth while the grill sizzles in the center. 

They mostly talk about tennis. The few times they played each other back in juniors. Changes to their coaching teams. Worst hotel breakfasts they've ever had on tour. Minjeong realizes Jimin is really easy to talk to. 

She also realizes how pretty she is up close.

At one point, Jimin boldly reaches across the table and plucks a grain of rice off Minjeong's cheek with her chopsticks. Minjeong blushes profusely.

They eat too much. Laugh more than they should. Minjeong feels herself forgetting about her loss in qualies. 

By the time they leave, the D.C. air is actually breathable. They don't rush the walk back. Jimin's arm brushes Minjeong's a couple of times.

"Alright," Jimin says once they reach the hotel, standing just outside the elevator. "Be honest. Best date of your life?"

Minjeong crosses her arms. "Top five."

"Five? Five!? "

"Maybe six."

Jimin gasps. "I'm offended."

Minjeong giggles. "You'll live."

Jimin leans against the elevator wall. It's hard to miss the softness in her voice when she speaks again.

"This was fun."

Minjeong nods, smiling thoughtfully. "It was."

A pause. The elevator dings.

Jimin doesn't move. "Can I kiss you?"

Minjeong freezes.

Then, quietly, she utters, "Yeah."

It's nothing cinematic. Just a soft, careful meeting of lips. But it's still enough to make Minjeong melt.

Jimin looks at her warmly as they pull back. "Still top five?"

Minjeong pretends to think. "Might be top three now."

She steps into the elevator and the doors close. Jimin watches her go with a grin on her face.

Weeks pass.

Tournaments come and go. Flights and practices and hotel breakfasts that all start to taste the same. Jimin moves on to bigger events and continues making a name for herself.

Minjeong's schedule looks more different. Lower tier events and smaller draws. Fewer cameras. Sometimes she loses tight matches. Sometimes she wins the ugly ones.

Through it all, they don't really bring up what happened in D.C.

There's no label or expectations, but they still text.

Minjeong gets a picture of Jimin in a massage chair one day.

jimin:
this guy tried to kill me!!!

minjeong:
good. maybe he'll succeed next time

They send selfies and jokes. Tell each other how their matches went.

jimin:
i won in straights!! 6-4 6-3. felt awesome  😁

minjeong:
bad call today. ump should lose their job  🙄

jimin:
do you miss me yet??

Minjeong answers that one with a vomit emoji. 

Though the truth is that she does.

They reunite in Seoul in mid September.

It's a smaller tournament that Minjeong gets in with her ranking. Jimin is resting up to play Beijing instead.

Minjeong's flight lands in the early afternoon. She's jetlagged and dozing off near the baggage claim when she suddenly hears her name.

"Kim Minjeong."

She looks up.

Jimin is standing there with her arms crossed. A satisfied smirk on her lips.

Minjeong blinks a few times to make sure she isn't imagining things. "What—when did you get in?"

"This morning."

"You told me you weren't playing Seoul."

Jimin shrugs. "I'm not. I came to see you."

"You didn't have to," Minjeong says, softer this time.

"I wanted to."

Jimin steps forward and opens her arms out for her. "I missed you."

Minjeong steps into them without a single ounce of hesitation. Hugs Jimin tight.

When they pull apart, Jimin takes her bag without asking.

"Let's get outta here," she murmurs.

They head back to Minjeong's hotel.

It's not far from the tournament grounds. Standard lodging. Nothing too fancy. The elevator is quiet on the way up, and Jimin stands close but doesn't reach for her hand. Minjeong wishes she would.

The room smells like air conditioning and soap. Jimin drops her bag near the door and looks around.

"Sweet view," she notes as she steps toward the window.

Minjeong kicks off her sneakers and shrugs. "Guess I got lucky."

"You deserve it."

Minjeong glances over at her. "For what?"

Jimin turns and leans her hip against the windowsill. "Sticking it out."

Minjeong blinks, a little caught off guard.

Jimin smiles softly. "The tour's rough. You're doing it. That matters."

Minjeong doesn't know what to say to that. She hasn't known what to say to most things involving Jimin lately. Her heart still tugs in weird directions every time she looks at her.

"I'm glad you're here," Minjeong finally says.

Jimin's eyes flicker. She pushes off the windowsill and walks toward her.

"I really like you."

Minjeong's breath catches.

Jimin's voice is steady. "I know it's been a weird few weeks. And I know we're in different places right now. But I keep thinking about you. And how I feel whenever I talk to you. I don't want it to be confusing or anything..."

Jimin stops in front of her.

"But I think we should give this a real shot."

Minjeong swallows. Doesn't realize she's been holding her breath until she exhales.

"Okay," she whispers.

Jimin smiles. The relief is written all over her face. Then she kisses Minjeong for the second time.

They don't make a big announcement, but after Seoul, they're officially together.

It's not always simple. Their schedules still pull them in opposite directions. Jimin plays main draws and bigger tournaments. Minjeong still grinds through the smaller ones. Fights for ranking points in tiny stadiums with practically zero spectators.

But they text. Call. FaceTime. Fall asleep on the line when time zones allow. Sometimes Jimin flies her out when there's a break in their schedules. Sometimes they get lucky and end up at the same event.

When they are in the same place, they always share a hotel room. It becomes a habit and a comfort. Minjeong sleeps better with Jimin next to her, even if Jimin likes to hog the covers.

The following summer, at twenty years old, Jimin wins her first WTA 1000 in Cincinnati. Minjeong tunes in on a questionable stream from her own hotel in Chicago, where she's prepping for a smaller tournament. She cheers so loud at match point that someone from the room next door bangs on the wall.

She texts Jimin. 

minjeong:
that was so hot

Jimin replies a few hours later with a selfie of her and her trophy. 

jimin:
did it for you  🥰

The headlines pour in after that.

Yu Jimin Breaks Through

South Korea's Rising Star Has Arrived

Poise, Power, and a Killer Serve

Minjeong sees them all. And still, somehow, Jimin never makes her feel small.

Not even once.

When they're together, Jimin never talks down to her. Doesn't brag or compare their rankings. She listens when Minjeong complains about bad calls and early exits. Massages her shoulders when she's sore from travel. She watches her matches live when she can and replays them when she can't. Texts Minjeong timestamps of the shots she enjoyed.

jimin:
this forehand was fucking crazy btw. you don't give yourself enough credit

Minjeong wonders how Jimin makes it all feel so effortless. How she can be so successful and still look at Minjeong like she's something brilliant, too.

She voices it once in a hotel room after a tough loss. Curled into Jimin's chest, speaking into her collarbone.

"You're gonna leave me behind."

Jimin pulls Minjeong closer. "You really think I'd do that?"

Minjeong sighs. "Jimin, you're... you. Everyone talks about you. I can't even make it past second rounds."

Jimin tilts Minjeong's chin up and looks her in the eye.

"You're still gonna win slams one day," she tells her. "I know it."

"You don't know that."

"I do," Jimin says. She doesn't blink. "And I'm gonna be right there watching when you do."

Jimin, though, is the first one to win a Slam between them. She's twenty one years old.

It happens at the US Open. On Arthur Ashe Stadium against an American player the crowd lends all their support to.

Minjeong is in Jimin's box. In her denim shorts and a cap, chewing her nails off between points. Her heart hammers in her chest like she's the one on court.

She lost early on. Stuck around anyway. Told Jimin she'd support her through the rest of the tournament.

She meant it.

Now she's here, watching the woman she loves walk onto the court with cameras in her face. Sheer determination in her eyes.

Jimin plays out of her mind.

She hits her spots. Serves huge. Defends like her life depends on it. And when the big moments come on the break points and long rallies, she rises to the occasion.

She wins in straight sets.

6-4, 6-3.

Jimin drops her racket and sinks to her knees.

Minjeong stands with the rest of the crowd, cheering so hard her voice feels raw. Her heart feels like it might burst from pride.

When they finally get a moment alone, Minjeong wraps Jimin up in her arms.

"I'm so proud of you," she whispers reverently.

Jimin sighs into Minjeong's shoulder. "You stayed."

"Of course I did."

"You could've left."

Minjeong pulls back just enough to kiss her on the lips. "You're an idiot if you think I'd miss that."

Jimin gives her a teasing smile. "Are you gonna treat me any differently now that I'm a Slam champ?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna make you do the dishes."

They start playing each other more often after that.

Not just in practice or warmups. Real matches with real stakes.

Jimin wins almost every time. Sometimes it's in straight sets. Sometimes it's closer. She's never cruel about it. She never gloats or rubs it in Minjeong's face.

But she plays like a champion and Minjeong plays like someone who's still trying to catch up.

It grates on her. She doesn't say it out loud, but she knows people talk. That's the one who's dating Yu Jimin. That's the one who can't beat Yu Jimin.

Still, she adores her.

Through every match and every loss. 

Minjeong loves Jimin even when it hurts.

Present Day, Washington D.C.

Jimin has a walkover in her first match.

So she shows up to watch Minjeong's, her credential bouncing from the lanyard around her neck. She takes her seat with an iced latte and her legs stretched out in front of her.

The match itself is clean. Steady. Minjeong plays well. Not perfectly, but solid. Her forehand looks alive again compared to the grass court season.

First set, 6-3.

In the second, her opponent starts swinging freer. Hits some winners that clip the lines. Minjeong adjusts her visor and grits her teeth through a long deuce game.

Midway through the set, during a changeover, she glances up at the box. Jimin lifts her drink in mock salute.

Minjeong snorts and nearly chokes on her water.

She closes out the match 6-3, 7-5.

She doesn't talk to Jimin until they're back in the locker room.

"Well?" Minjeong asks as she towels sweat off the back of her neck. "Any notes, World No. 1?"

Jimin leans against the wall casually. "Footwork was good. Serve placement could use a little love, though."

Minjeong raises a brow. "I served eighty percent of firsts in."

"Make it eighty two next time."

Minjeong scoffs. "You're so annoying."

"Yet you still play your best with me watching."

"Correlation is not causation."

Jimin grins. "You sure?"

Minjeong toys with the hem of her sweaty shirt and sighs. "I'm not doing this with you."

Jimin grabs Minjeong's hand, threads their fingers together and tugs her toward the exit. 

"C'mon," Jimin says. "Let's get you something cold before you collapse."

Jimin plays her first match two days later under the stadium lights.

It's extremely humid. Minjeong sits in her box with a water bottle in her lap, fanning herself.

Jimin walks out in the assured way she always does. 

Wins in straights. Fast and clinical.

Minjeong claps loudly following match point. She stays to see Jimin smile up at her. Give that subtle little wave with her fingers.

Jimin's next match is trickier.

A tougher opponent on a much hotter night.

Minjeong sits through it after losing her own match earlier in the day, already in a sour mood. She glares at the umpire when a questionable call doesn't go Jimin's way. Jimin turns to her and mouths, "chill" , which only makes Minjeong more annoyed.

But Jimin holds. And she wins.

Breezes through her next matches and earns her spot in the final.

It's not an easy one. 

Minjeong watches Jimin dig herself out of a hole at 2-4. Watches her reset and stare down the finish line and just go.

Minjeong knows that version of her girlfriend. It's the one who won four majors.

Jimin wins the final in three sets.

When the last ball sails long and the crowd rises to its feet, Jimin pumps her fist. Then Jimin finds her box. Points at Minjeong as she grins through fatigue.

Minjeong's smiling as she makes her way down to the tunnel after the trophy ceremony.

"You were ridiculous out there," Minjeong says, pulling Jimin into a hug.

Jimin buries her face into her shoulder. "It was gross and sweaty and the lights were so bright—"

"You still won."

Jimin groans softly. "I want ten ice baths and a medal."

"You already got a trophy."

Jimin lifts her head. "Right. That."

Minjeong laughs. Jimin leans on her.

"Are you proud of me?" she asks.

"Eh."

Jimin pokes Minjeong's side.

Minjeong grins. "I'm always proud of you, baby."

They land in Toronto the day before main draw play begins. It's cooler here, at least. The Canadian summer is much more forgiving than whatever swampy mess D.C.'s is.

They both get byes in the first round. It gives them a couple of days to practice and ease into the tournament.

Their hotel room has a floor to ceiling window that looks out over the skyline. Jimin claims the side of the bed closest to it. Minjeong doesn't argue. 

They practice together on a Tuesday morning. Their timing clicks. Jimin feeds her balls with clean spin, Minjeong rips forehands down the line. The fans watching from outside the fence murmur when they switch to playing points.

"You're hitting too well. It's annoying," Jimin says.

Minjeong smirks. "Maybe I'm just in the zone."

"Why weren't you in the zone in D.C.?"

Minjeong chucks a ball at her. Misses. They keep practicing until their legs burn.

Minjeong's first match comes on Wednesday afternoon.

Jimin looks on with her elbows resting on her knees. Minjeong tries not to look at her too much between points. She wants to, though. To check if Jimin's impressed.

She plays great in the first set. Takes it 6-2. Dips a little in the second, but fights back from a break down and closes it out 7-5. 

Jimin's match is later.

Against a Canadian wildcard. Night session. 

It's supposed to be straightforward. The top seed versus a local teenager. But the atmosphere shifts from rowdy to antagonistic real fast.

The whistles start early. The noise during Jimin's toss. Every time she goes up to serve, someone in the crowd yells obnoxiously.

Minjeong is in her box with her fists clenched in her lap. She can see the irritation on Jimin's face.

At 2-2 in the second set, after she double faults, Jimin walks straight to the umpire's chair.

"No," she says firmly, pointing behind her. "This is too much. You hear them. It's constant."

The umpire tries to calm her down. The crowd boos.

Jimin ignores it and stands there, breathing heavily.

She's assured it'll be taken care of, but nothing changes.

So Jimin uses it as fuel to keep going.

She holds serve. Breaks in the next game. Screams after a backhand return and sticks it to the crowd. 

She wins the match 6-4 in the third set.

Minjeong is nearly vibrating with how turned on she is.

Jimin's dead on her feet by the time they get back to the hotel.

The match was a marathon. She's running on fumes, moving on autopilot as she kicks her shoes off and mumbles something about needing a shower.

Minjeong smiles as she shuffles toward the bathroom. There's exhaustion seeping through her own limbs just from watching Jimin put her whole body on the line out there.

She lets Jimin go and gives her space.

But her eyes follow her the entire way.

Jimin had looked so good tonight.

Minjeong hasn't been able to stop thinking about the way she stood her ground at the umpire's chair. The fact that she shut up an entire stadium by playing the way she did.

Minjeong had sat through all of it on the edge of her seat. Completely turned on.

With the sound of the shower running behind the bathroom door and her girlfriend temporarily out of sight, it still simmers under her skin.

She doesn't mean to act on it. But the growing ache between her legs is too hard to ignore.

Minjeong pulls her suitcase toward the foot of the bed quietly. Grabs her little pouch of travel essentials, then slips a hand beneath the comforter as she lays back. The vibrator hums beneath her fingers.

She closes her eyes. Her other hand curls into the sheets. Breath stuttering almost instantly.

She thinks about Jimin and Jimin only. How attractive she is when she's riled up.

Minjeong bites her lip. Hips shifting. Thighs already trembling.

And then the bathroom door creaks open.

Minjeong doesn't hear it over the sound of her pulse in her ears. 

"Really?" Jimin says, amused as ever.

Minjeong's eyes fly open to find her standing just past the bathroom door, wrapped in a white towel. She jerks her hand out from under the covers and the vibrator falls to the floor.

"I thought you were gonna be a while!" Minjeong blurts out, mortified.

Jimin walks to the edge of the bed. Leans down. The towel slips just slightly at her chest.

"You couldn't wait five more minutes?"

Minjeong swallows. "I wasn't gonna bother you, you were tired—"

Jimin doesn't interrupt. She sets a knee on the mattress and crawls forward.

"I wasn't tired for this."

Minjeong's breath catches in her throat.

Jimin reaches for her. Her fingers brush Minjeong's cheek. Then they move lower, under the blanket, under Minjeong's shirt.

"Next time," Jimin murmurs, kissing her, "just ask."

Minjeong exhales shakily. Her lips part to respond, but Jimin kisses her again, slips a hand past her panties and between her legs, and words fail her.

"Fuck," Jimin murmurs as she breaks the kiss, dragging her fingers along Minjeong's slick folds. "Is this all because of me?"

Minjeong whines and bucks against Jimin's hand.

"What was that?" Jimin teases, smirking as her thumb circles Minjeong's clit.

"Jimin," Minjeong breathes. "Just shut up and fuck me."

Jimin chuckles. Slips two fingers inside Minjeong at her plea. She pumps them in and out, watching her face contort with pleasure all the while. It's a sight she'll never get tired of seeing. She's sure of it.

"You feel so good," Jimin mumbles, pumping them faster. "You're so fucking wet, baby."

"Only for you," Minjeong gets out between sharp gasps.

Jimin groans. She kisses Minjeong deeply, coaxing more sweet whimpers out of her until Minjeong's walls finally clamp around her fingers and she surrenders to the pleasure, moaning into Jimin's mouth as her orgasm washes over her.

Jimin pulls her fingers out after a few moments, bringing them up to her lips. Licks them clean. She hums approvingly and moves to lay beside her.

Minjeong's chest continues to rise and fall as she attempts to steady her breathing. "I needed that..."

Jimin laughs softly. "Me too."

The rest of Toronto flies by.

Jimin loses a tight match in the next round. 

Minjeong doesn't lose a set.

Not because it's easy, but because something is just clicking with her game this week.

Jimin attends every match. She's more than impressed. 

After a particularly brutal quarterfinal, Minjeong stumbles into the tunnel and finds Jimin.

"Was that clean enough for you?" she asks breathlessly, strands of hair clinging to her temples.

Jimin hands her a cold water bottle and grins. "Looks like the queen of clay is becoming a hard court specialist."

Minjeong rolls her eyes, but she's grinning too.

She ends up reaching the final of Toronto. The crowd is loud and on her side. Her opponent has a good return game. It's not a walk in the park, but Minjeong is relentless.

She wins 7-5, 6-4.

Her second WTA 1000 title. First on a hard court.

When she's done posing for the photos, she looks for Jimin.

Jimin's waiting behind the curtain in the tunnel. They wrap their arms around each other in a long, sweaty hug.

Minjeong places the trophy on the coffee table as soon as they get back to the hotel.

"You know, I've never won multiple titles in one season," Minjeong says, drying her hair with a towel. "It's nuts."

Jimin is lying back on the bed in a tank top and sleep shorts. She's on her phone.

"You're on a tear, baby," she offers simply.

Minjeong walks over and straddles her thighs, wet hair dripping onto Jimin's collarbone.

"Think I have a chance for the US Open?" she murmurs.

Jimin smirks and meets her gaze. "Not if I have any say in it."

Two days later, they're in Cincinnati. 

The transition is seamless. The flight is thankfully short.

Jimin's hitting again like she never left D.C. Her game feels crisp. She sails through her early rounds. She always does well in Cincy.

Minjeong's draw is heavier. She guts out a three setter in the second round. Loses her balance and ends up with a bloody knee. But she wins. 

Cincy is the last stop before the US Open.

A lot of players treat it like a dress rehearsal.

Sadly, Minjeong doesn't make it past the third round.

And really, it's not a shock.

Toronto had wrung her out. That final had taken all that she had in the tank, and she'd only had a few days to recover.

She walks off the court sweaty and hollowed out. There's no drama or broken rackets. All she feels is the fatigue in her bones.

Jimin pulls her in for a hug as soon as they're out of the cameras' view. "You did what you could. You gave Toronto everything."

Minjeong rests her forehead on Jimin's shoulder. "I wanted to back it up."

"You will. Just not this week."

"I'm still gonna pout."

"You've earned that, too."

Meanwhile, Jimin hits her stride.

Her matches in Cincinnati are textbook. She returns aggressively and moves well. Doesn't drop her serve once.

The semifinal is a grind in the late night humidity. But Jimin handles it like the World No. 1 is supposed to. She wins it with an ace out wide and jogs off the court like she could've kept going for another hour.

When Jimin reaches the final, the broadcasters are already talking about the US Open.

"She's playing great," one of them says. "Australian Open champion. Went deep in the last two majors. A title here would make her the favorite in New York this year."

And then Jimin wins Cincy.

Straight sets. Impossibly clean tennis. 

Minjeong is there at the end, of course. She grabs her in a hug so tight that Jimin lets out a small "oof" of surprise.

"That was scary," Minjeong says into her neck.

Jimin brushes her nose against Minjeong's cheek. "Scary?"

"You're literally terrifying when you're in form."

"Jealous?"

"Yes," Minjeong mutters. "Now shut up and take me to dinner."

Outside the press room, the headlines begin to write themselves.

World No. 1 Dominates Cincinnati — All Eyes on New York

Can Anyone Stop Yu Jimin at the US Open?

Minjeong sees one on her phone before bed that night and turns the screen toward Jimin.

Jimin chuckles. "I mean, can you?"

Minjeong narrows her eyes. "You're so full of yourself."

"People are just asking the important questions, baby."

Minjeong throws a pillow at her.

Jimin ducks it and smiles wide.

They arrive in New York before media day.

Minjeong tugs her cap lower and breathes in the city air. Jimin smirks and puts on her sunglasses.

It's obviously not their first US Open.

But it feels different this time.

Between them, they've won two of the four major tournaments this year. The attention is more intense. Sponsor obligations are more demanding. Their faces are on billboards in Times Square.

Jimin's in a campaign for a luxury watch brand. Minjeong's repping a new skincare line. They spend the first few days going from studio to studio, photographer to interviewer, smiling until their jaws hurt from answering the same questions.

What's it like being the Aussie Open and Roland Garros champs?

Do you ever not talk about tennis?

How do you manage your relationship and rivalry?

Would you say you're each other's biggest competition?

What would it mean to meet in the final?

When the draw finally comes out, they study it together in bed.

Jimin's the number one seed, obviously. Minjeong is seeded just a bit lower, but her quarter is brutal. A former US Open champion in the third round. A player who beat her in Madrid lurking in the fourth.

Minjeong sighs as she scrolls through it.

"This is ugly," she mutters.

Jimin presses her chin to Minjeong's shoulder and peers at her phone. "But not impossible."

"Says the girl who got a qualifier in round one."

"It's not my fault people keep losing to me."

Minjeong snorts and elbows her. "So humble."

Jimin grins. "You want the good news?"

Minjeong leans back into her. "Sure."

"We're on opposite sides."

They look at each other for a beat.

"If we keep winning," Jimin adds, "we meet in the final."

Minjeong groans and covers her face with a pillow. 

Jimin laughs and pulls the pillow away. She kisses Minjeong's forehead.

The practice courts at Flushing Meadows are chaotic as usual.

There's kids pressed against fences. Fans holding up their homemade signs. Camera shutters every second. 

Minjeong adjusts her cap as she waits for her hitting partner to finish grabbing balls. She's drenched in sweat and her forearms sting from the heat, but it feels good.

Jimin's a few courts over, practicing serves in front of a sizable crowd. Every now and then, she glances over just to make sure Minjeong's still watching.

Which she is.

After practice, Minjeong walks over to the fence with a sharpie in hand. The crowd's shouting for her and she tries not to look too overwhelmed.

She signs hats and balls and phone cases. Smiles politely through every "I watched you in Paris" and "you're gonna win this year, I just know it."

And then, she hears a little voice. A really soft one, but clear.

"You're my idol," a girl says. She's maybe about nine years old. Holding out a tennis ball with both hands.

Minjeong's heart melts as she takes it. She smiles down at her. "What's your name?"

"Ella."

"Hi, Ella." Minjeong signs the ball carefully and hands it back to her. "Do you play?"

The girl nods. "I wanna be just like you."

It suddenly hits Minjeong how she used to be that girl. The one behind the fence. Dreaming from the outside in.

"Then you're already on the right track," Minjeong tells her softly.

Ella's grin practically splits her face in half.

Minjeong ruffles her hair before she goes, watching her run off toward her dad.

Her chest feels too full.

She finds Jimin in the gym an hour later.

"How was the crowd?" Jimin asks, pulling her into a hug.

Minjeong is quiet for a second. She leans into Jimin.

"You okay, princess?"

"Yeah," Minjeong says quietly. "Just met someone."

Jimin tilts her head. "A fan?"

"Yeah. This little girl. She said I was her idol."

Jimin rubs slow circles along Minjeong's spine.

"That's because you are."

Minjeong smiles.

She doesn't always let herself believe it. Not with everything Jimin's accomplished. But sometimes, in moments like this, it dawns on her.

She's here and she matters, too. There's people out there watching her and hoping to follow.

It's the most incredible feeling.

Toward the end of the first week, the buzz becomes impossible to ignore.

They're both still in the tournament.

Every press conference. Every highlight reel. Every casual tweet from a tennis fan who's just tuning in. Everyone's starting to say the same thing.

Yu Jimin. Kim Minjeong. They might actually meet in the final.

It's not a stretch anymore. Only a few more matches between them and Saturday.

Minjeong's draw is the harder of the two. Everyone knew that going in.

She takes out that former US Open champ in the third round. It takes over two hours, late at night on Arthur Ashe. Every point is exhausting. Her legs are jelly by the end. But she advances.

Jimin texts her. 

jimin:
that backhand return at 4-4?? i'm so wet

Minjeong reads it while she's soaking in an ice bath. Rolls her eyes and smiles.

In the fourth round, Minjeong plays a rising star with a big serve. She drops the first set but claws back. Shifts her tactics and grits it out. Wins 2-6, 6-3, 6-4.

Jimin meets her in the hallway after. Holds her sweaty face in both hands and says, "What a player."

Minjeong leans in and kisses her quickly. "Quarterfinals, babe."

Jimin's side of the draw is quieter. 

She glides through the early rounds. Her toughest match is a night session against an American where the crowd turns on her in the second set. But she's been through worse. She locks in and wins it in straights.

Her quarterfinal match is a dominant display. 6-1, 6-2. Barely an hour on court.

Minjeong witnesses it live. Bites back a grin when Jimin smirks at her after a ridiculous drop shot. She gets back to the hotel room that night and finds Jimin waiting in bed smugly.

"I made dinner reservations for after I win the final," Jimin announces.

"You're such an ass."

"Manifesting," Jimin replies innocently.

And then the semifinals come.

Minjeong plays first. It's an emotionally draining three set match against a player with a reputation for being a pusher. Minjeong figures it out and plays some of her smartest tennis.

She wins 7-5 in the third.

One more to go.

Jimin plays her semifinal under the lights. It's dramatic. The first set goes to a tiebreak. The second is more routine. She finishes with a crosscourt forehand winner that leaves the stadium roaring.

They both win.

They're both in the final.

Jimin does her press conference first.

She walks in calm, cool and collected. The WTA staffer barely gets through her intro before the questions start flying.

"Jimin, you're the favorite going into the final. You've beaten Minjeong six times. Does the head to head give you extra confidence?"

Jimin shrugs. "It definitely doesn't hurt."

That gets a few laughs, but she's already shifting into her game face.

"Honestly, I don't care who I'm playing. I play to win in every Slam final. That's always been the deal."

There's a pause. A longer silence before she continues.

"I want to kick her ass," Jimin admits with a tiny smirk. "This is a competitive sport. I'm not here to coast. I'm here to be a Hall of Famer and you don't get that by playing nice or holding back."

Another reporter calls out from the back. "Even if she's your girlfriend?"

"Especially if she's my girlfriend."

Minjeong's press conference is after.

She's still a little flushed from her morning hit.

The first few questions are expected. About tactics and scheduling. How her body's been holding up these past few weeks.

Then, someone asks it.

"Minjeong, what's it like facing your girlfriend on a stage like this?"

She gives a small smile and leans into the mic.

"It's not the first time we've played each other," Minjeong says. "And yeah, our history's not exactly in my favor. But that's the past."

A beat.

"I want to win and I know I can. I believe in myself."

A simple answer, but for Minjeong, it's monumental. She's not just hoping this time. She's ready.

Another reporter jumps in. "What's changed?"

Minjeong doesn't hesitate.

"I've had a great season so far. My problem solving is a lot better now. I've beaten top players. Won a Slam. I've grown up a little, I think." Her smile grows. "I'm not scared of her anymore."

Another beat of silence.

"And even if I love her," she adds, "I'd still like to wipe the floor with her."

That makes the room chuckle.

When the press conference ends, Minjeong walks out with her head up.

The night before the final, they don't do anything special.

They're in their hotel room and the TV's on. Their rackets are prepped. Kits laid out for the big day. 

There's nothing left to do but wait.

Jimin is in bed scrolling through some notes on her iPad.

Minjeong is curled beside her with one leg draped over Jimin's. Cheek resting on her shoulder. Just breathing her in and grounding herself.

They'd made a pact earlier.

No sex tonight.

There's too much on the line. A grand slam final is not just any other match. They need to rest and hydrate. Sleep like the professionals they are.

"Do you think the organizers regret this?" Minjeong murmurs against Jimin's skin.

"Regret what?"

"Letting two people in love make it to the final."

Jimin hums. "Probably not. The ratings are going to be disgusting."

Minjeong snorts.

They fall into silence for a while. Jimin's hand drifts absently along Minjeong's arm. Her fingertips trace her elbow.

"Are you nervous?" Jimin eventually asks.

Minjeong shifts a bit. "No."

Jimin waits.

Minjeong exhales. "A little."

"Because it's me?"

"Because it's you." Minjeong rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. "You're who I measure everything against."

Jimin turns her head.

"I want to beat you," Minjeong adds quietly. "So badly. But even if I don't... I think this might be my favorite version of us."

"Yeah," Jimin murmurs. "Mine too."

More silence.

"...We're gonna wake up tomorrow and try to murder each other on court, huh?" Minjeong says.

Jimin smiles. "That's the dream."

Minjeong leans in and kisses her. Just once. A peck. Then another, because she can't help herself.

She pulls back with a groan, dropping her forehead to Jimin's chest. "This no sex before a final rule sucks."

"You're the one who made it."

"Because I know myself."

Jimin laughs. "You're stronger than me."

"I don't feel strong," Minjeong mutters.

"You smell like lavender body lotion."

"I wanted to smell nice for you," she mumbles, face still buried in her. "Even if I'm banned from touching you."

"Dramatic."

Minjeong sighs. "I'm in love. I'm allowed to be."

The women's singles final starts at 4 p.m. on Arthur Ashe.

Saturday. Primetime. 

Yu Jimin vs. Kim Minjeong.

World No. 1 vs. Roland Garros champion.

Rivals and girlfriends.

Every sports outlet has called it the final of the year. Obviously for the storyline, but for the level, too. They've both been playing lights out tennis the entire tournament. Now it comes to this.

Minjeong stands at the baseline, adjusting her visor as the chair umpire calls time.

She looks across the net. Jimin is bouncing on her toes. She's in that terrifying focus mode she reserves for the biggest stages.

Minjeong swallows down her nerves.

The first set gives the crowd their money's worth.

Both of them come out swinging. They rally from the baseline. Hit blistering serves. Clean winners. It's incredible shot making from the jump.

Jimin draws first blood. She plays a perfect return game at 2-2. Cracks a forehand down the line and holds her fist up, daring Minjeong to respond.

Minjeong digs into her return games. Paints lines with her forehand. Throws in the occasional drop shot just to test Jimin's movement.

But Jimin holds strong.

At 5-4, Jimin serves out the set like it's routine. Ace. Forehand winner. Another ace. Then one more forehand into the open court.

6-4. Game and first set, Yu Jimin.

Minjeong chews her bottom lip and walks back to her chair.

A first set loss is nothing new. Not against Jimin.

She's been here before.

The second set, Minjeong doesn't fold.

She starts with a love hold. Puts pressure on Jimin's serve early. And when the first break point comes, she seizes it with a scorching backhand up the line.

Jimin's brows are raised in surprise as the ball zips past her. 

Minjeong doesn't let up.

Even when Jimin breaks back, Minjeong refuses to let the momentum swing her way. She plays point by point. 

At 6-5, she plays the game of her life while serving for the set.

Wins a 24-shot rally. Saves two break points with gutsy second serves.

On set point, she smashes an overhead into the deuce court to take it 7-5.

Minjeong pumps her fist. 

It's even.

Everything is on the line in the third set.

They trade holds throughout. Neither of them blinking. Both landing their first serves at nearly eighty percent. Every winner gets a louder cheer. Every unforced error draws a groan from the crowd.

The level is insane.

Minjeong faces three break points at 4-4. She saves all of them with sheer grit.

Jimin holds at love with no emotion at 5-6. Just pure focus.

The third set, quite fittingly, goes to a super tiebreak. 

First one to 10 points. Must win by two.

They trade points early. 2-2. 4-4. Then Jimin raises her game and goes up 6-4.

Minjeong doesn't panic. Not in the way she would have earlier in the season.

She locks in. Draws an error from Jimin. 6-5.

Jimin double faults for 6-6. Lets out a yell of frustration toward her box. 

Minjeong serves out wide. Blasts a forehand into the open court. 7-6.

Follows up with a drop shot winner to make it 8-6.

Jimin responds with a swinging volley. 8-7.

An ace down the T right after. 8-8.

Minjeong charges the net and finishes the next point with a volley that lands just inside the baseline.

9-8.

Championship point.

Minjeong bounces the ball five times.

Serves into the body. Jimin stretches and blocks it back.

Minjeong anticipates. Darts forward and rips a backhand down the line.

Game, set, match. Kim Minjeong

2 hours, 45 minutes.

The crowd goes wild.

Minjeong drops to her knees in pure disbelief. She's just beaten the best player in the world.

And the US Open is hers.

At the net, Jimin meets her with a soft smile.

"Well done," she says, her eyes shining. "You were on another level."

Minjeong grabs her and hugs her tight. They hold on longer than usual, foreheads pressed together.

Then Jimin pulls away. She nods and disappears toward her chair. Lets Minjeong have her moment.

Minjeong turns to the stands. Raises her arms and beams brighter than she ever has before.

The court is transformed quickly.

Blue carpets and the tournament officials standing in neat rows. Minjeong's trophy glints on stage. 

She stands to the side. Her heart pounds in her chest.

Jimin is called up to the microphone first.

She's sweaty and her lips are curved into a tired smile.

She adjusts the mic.

"Well," Jimin starts, "that was soul-crushing."

The crowd laughs.

She glances over her shoulder at Minjeong. Her smile widens almost immediately.

"But if I have to lose to anyone," she continues, "I'm glad it's her."

Another cheer. It's louder this time.

"She's had an incredible season. I've seen how hard she works. I know the hours. All the sacrifices she's made to get here."

Minjeong exhales, lips twitching.

Jimin goes on. "I've been lucky to win the US Open once in my career. I came out here today wanting my second. Believe me, I really did." A light chuckle from the crowd. "But more than that, I wanted to give you all a final worth watching. I think we did that."

Applause. 

"Minjeong, I don't think there are enough words to describe how proud of you I am," Jimin says, gazing at Minjeong with all the fondness in the world. "You earned every point today. I hope we can keep this level up and meet in many more finals in the future."

Minjeong smiles at her gratefully, and listens to Jimin finish the rest of her speech.

The runner-up plate is handed to Jimin once she does. She holds it up high, gives the crowd a graceful nod, then walks toward Minjeong and gently bumps their shoulders together as she passes.

Minjeong's heart stutters.

They call her name.

The stadium roars.

She steps up to the mic.

Her voice shakes slightly, but her head is held high.

"Hi," Minjeong starts, breathless. "I'm not very good at this part."

Laughter again. She smiles and tries to steady herself.

"This... means more to me than I can say. Winning the US Open has been a dream for me ever since I was little. I didn't think I'd be standing here for real. I thought maybe I'd get close. Like, the quarters or something, but this…"

She looks down and lets out a breath.

"I want to thank my team and my family for believing in me. I want to thank the fans, because you've been incredible these past two weeks. I could feel your energy the whole time."

Then she looks at Jimin.

"And you..."

The crowd quiets.

"You've been my toughest opponent, Jimin. My biggest supporter. My favorite person. I've looked up to you for years, and I still do." Tears brim her eyes. "You never made me feel like I was less than you, even when the rankings said I was."

Jimin presses her lips together tightly, trying not to cry.

Minjeong's smile wobbles.

"Thank you. For everything. I love you, and it's such an honor to share the court with you."

She steps back.

And finally, they hand her the trophy.

Minjeong lifts it high and lets the tears spill.

After press is done and the trophy and Minjeong have been photographed from every angle, the two of them slip into something casual and head out to a restaurant.

It's quiet and private. A late night spot where no one bothers them.

Jimin orders champagne before Minjeong can stop her.

"We've had enough champagne," Minjeong says as she leans against the booth, laughing softly.

"That was in Paris, babe," Jimin replies with a wiggle of her brows. "This is New York champagne. Concrete jungle where dreams are made of."

Minjeong shakes her head. Lets Jimin pour a glass for her.

Jimin pours one for herself and then clinks her glass against Minjeong's.

"To what?" Minjeong asks. Her face is glowing.

"To my champion," Jimin says, raising her glass higher. 

Minjeong grins.

They talk about the match as they eat dinner. Jimin tells her about the tiebreak and how she thought she had the 6-4 lead locked down.

"You started moving different at 6-6," Jimin mumbles, pretending to scowl. "I felt it. You tricked me."

Minjeong shrugs playfully. "I wanted it more."

Jimin chuckles. "You're gonna be insufferable about this win for weeks."

They take a photo when their dessert arrives. Minjeong has a spoonful of chocolate cake in her mouth, while Jimin leans over, pressing a kiss to her cheek just as the flash blinds them.

Jimin posts it on Instagram with a caption.

if you can't beat the competition, date them 🤷‍♀️🍾 

The tour ends in November, after the WTA Finals, which, of course, Jimin wins. 

Because she's Yu Jimin. Because even after losing the US Open final, she spends the fall lighting up the courts. She hoists the trophy, thanks her team, thanks Minjeong with a wink, and they fly straight home.

Home is Florida now. A house near Boca Raton. Nothing too flashy. A perfect distance from the training courts they both use year round.

It's a life that makes sense. Most top players are based here. The facilities are good and the climate's reliable. 

The night Jimin proposes, she's in the kitchen with her sleeves rolled up. Cooking dinner with her hair still a bit wet from a late shower. 

Minjeong's on the couch with her legs tucked under her, reading a book. The kitchen smells like garlic and lemon and too much olive oil, but Jimin always cooks with too much olive oil and it always turns out delicious anyway.

"Are you using the whole bag of pasta?" Minjeong calls out.

"Half."

"Liar."

"So?"

Minjeong grins and flips a page.

Jimin plates the food once it's ready. Wipes her hands on a towel and looks over at Minjeong.

"Stay there."

Minjeong frowns. "Why? What did you forget?"

Jimin presses a finger to her lips and disappears into their bedroom.

She returns thirty seconds later, hiding something behind her back.

Minjeong squints. "Jimin, if you bought another french press, I'm throwing it away."

Jimin drops to one knee.

Minjeong goes still. 

She doesn't say anything. Just watches as Jimin pulls the ring box from behind her back and opens it slowly to reveal the rock.

It's so beautiful.

"I didn't plan some big thing," Jimin begins softly, "I thought maybe I should. Like a fancy dinner, or like… one of those sunset boat things in Miami."

Minjeong laughs. Mostly because there's tears in her eyes now, and it's all she can do to keep it together.

"But then I thought," Jimin continues, "this felt more like us. At home. Just... quiet, you know?"

Minjeong sniffles. She wipes at her cheeks with her sleeves.

"I love you with everything I have, Minjeongie," Jimin says, her voice tender. "And I want to do the rest of this with you. All of it. For as long as I can have it."

Minjeong's already sliding off the couch onto the floor before Jimin can even ask the question.

"Yes," she says too quickly. "A billion times yes."

Jimin chuckles. "You didn't even let me finish."

"You didn't need to."

Jimin slips the ring onto Minjeong's finger. It fits perfectly.

Minjeong stares at it, and more tears spill down her cheeks. When she looks up again, she finds Jimin grinning at her.

"I did good, didn't I?"

Minjeong laughs through her tears. Throws her arms around Jimin.

"You did perfect."

Chapter Text

Perhaps proposing to Minjeong lit the fuse. 

Because the 2026 season? It belongs to Yu Jimin.

She's untouchable from the start. Walks into Melbourne that January oozing confidence and barely drops a set.

She wins her second Australian Open title playing the kind of tennis that makes people wonder if she might just snatch all the majors this year.

Then comes the clay in Paris.

It's not her preferred surface. She's no Kim Minjeong on it, that's for sure. Jimin's always been more deadly on hard courts and grass, but she's still Jimin. Still ridiculous. A freak of nature, as Minjeong often likes to put it.

Another Roland Garros trophy? Check.

Minjeong watches from the player's box the day of the final. They don't face off in the tournament this time, since Minjeong crashed out in the quarters with a shoulder problem, but once the match is over, she finds herself on court celebrating with Jimin. Sprays some champagne in her face.

Wimbledon is even better. 

The grass is made for Jimin. The timing and the instinct and the flair is all her. She gets to the final and dismantles her opponent in under an hour. People start whispering the words.

Calendar Slam.

A myth for most players. A stretch of dominance that belongs to the true legends of their sport. But with three majors down, Jimin's the closest anyone's been in a long time.

Minjeong doesn't say much about it publicly. When she's asked in press if she thinks Jimin can do it, she shrugs and answers, "If anyone can, it's her."

By the time they land in New York, the tension is thick. Everyone is watching. Waiting to see if Jimin can pull off such a historic feat.

She glides through her draw. Straight sets and clean winners. Her time is precious, and certainly not wasted.

She ends up making it to the final.

Minjeong does too.

Same as last year. 

A rematch and a shot at revenge.

Jimin comes out all guns blazing. 

In the third set, she serves for the match. Has three championship points.

But Minjeong is ever the spoiler.

She hits a ruthless cross court forehand. A drop shot Jimin can't get to unless she wants to eat the concrete. A backhand so clinical it has the crowd's hearts in their throats. She claws her way back point by point and forces a tiebreak.

Wins it like it's the summer of 2025 all over again.

Spoils Jimin's once in a lifetime season. Makes it 2-0 against her beloved fiancée in Grand Slam finals.

And even then, Jimin jogs to the net as the umpire calls game, set, match. Wears that signature grin of hers. She hugs Minjeong tightly and kisses her cheek.

The cameras zoom in on her sitting down before the trophy ceremony, and there's no trace of heartbreak. Only pride written on her face.

Later in the press room, a journalist asks the obvious question.

"You were three points away. How does it feel being that close and not being able to close it out?"

Jimin cocks her head. Thinks for a second. 

Then, smiling, she offers, "It stings, yeah. But at the end of the day, I still get to marry her. I don't think I have it so bad."

In the middle of November, after the 2026 season ends, they tie the knot.

It's a simple wedding, just like they wanted. Right in their backyard in Boca. Under string lights Jimin had insisted on putting up herself despite almost falling off the ladder twice.

The guest list is small and reserved for the people who matter. Their families. A handful of close friends. Coaches, old and current. Those who knew them before the majors and the headlines. 

They write their own vows.

Jimin's are long. She starts with a joke about the first time she saw Minjeong on a tennis court.

"I thought, holy shit, her forehand's insane. I should marry her."

A few more sentences in, her voice trembles. She keeps talking anyway. All heart and absolutely no filter.

"I never knew what love was until you, Minjeongie," she says, her eyes shining. "I've spent my whole life chasing titles and trying to be the best... and then I met you, and I realized none of that even mattered. I just wanted to be yours."

Minjeong is already crying by that point.

She presses her lips together and exhales shakily. Tries not to let it overwhelm her. But her hands are trembling, and when she lifts her gaze to meet Jimin's, her eyes are full.

She lets out a soft laugh that turns into a sniffle. "You actually suck for going first."

Jimin gives her a watery grin and reaches for her hand. Brushes her thumb over the inside of her wrist to soothe her.

Minjeong breathes in deeply.

"I really wanted to write something perfect," she begins, voice thin, like she's still trying her damndest to steady it. "But everything I came up with didn't sound like me, so..."

Minjeong swallows. Her fingers clutch the small paper she brought up with her, but she doesn't open it.

"I guess I just want to say what's true."

Her voice breaks a little at the next part. She tries to laugh it off, but the tears are cascading down her cheeks now.

"Which is, I love you."

Minjeong pauses and blinks quickly. Her lips tug into a smile as she looks at the woman who's the sole reason for that.

"I love you because you always make everything feel lighter. I love you because you make my hard days feel easier. I love you because you make winning feel sweeter, and losing feel like it's not the end of the world. I love you because you're the safest thing I've ever known."

She has to pause again. Breathe. Regather herself.

"You're the person I want to come home to. No matter where we are in the world."

Jimin swallows thickly.

"And I don't know where tennis will take us, or what any of this is gonna look like in five years, but I know I want all of it with you. I want you, Jimin."

A beat of silence. She feels Jimin's hand tighten in hers. Her face is soaked with tears too, and Minjeong lets out another shaky laugh at the sight.

"That's it," Minjeong says, sniffling. "That's all I've got."

Jimin pulls her in.

They kiss.

Someone cheers far too loudly. Probably Jimin's older sister, who's tipsy and crying. Jimin's mom dabs at her tear streaked face with a handkerchief. Minjeong's brother claps hard and looks like he's trying not to tear up himself.

The rest of the night is loose and warm. They cut the cake early because Minjeong's hungry. There's no first dance, but they slow dance barefoot on the lawn anyway.

Jimin twirls Minjeong lazily under the fairy lights. Her champagne glass is nearly empty in one hand, and the other is wrapped around Minjeong's waist.

"I'm still super butthurt about that drop shot," she murmurs in Minjeong's ear.

Minjeong raises an eyebrow. "Which one?"

"You know which one."

A tiny smirk forms over Minjeong's mouth. "You should've anticipated it better."

Jimin groans. Pulls back to rest her forehead against Minjeong's. "Hindsight's always 20/20."

They continue to sway while glasses clink and gentle laughter from their guests fills the background.

Jimin kisses her temple and whispers, "We're married, baby."

Minjeong nods with her eyes closed. Fingers curling around the back of Jimin's neck. "I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

That night, when all of their guests are gone and the lights are still glowing faintly outside, they find themselves in bed. Finally alone.

Minjeong's tucked into the crook of Jimin's arm. Her makeup's wiped clean and her hair is splayed on the pillow. Jimin's in a ratty t-shirt and short shorts.

"My wife," Jimin gushes, loving the way the word rolls off her tongue. "That's so sexy."

Minjeong smiles. "You've been calling me that all night."

"I've been waiting to call you that for ages," Jimin counters. She skims her thumb over Minjeong's cheek. "Let me be excited about it."

Minjeong leans in and kisses her softly. 

Jimin sighs into it. "God, you're beautiful."

"You're drunk on attention," Minjeong murmurs.

"Drunk on you," Jimin corrects her dreamily. It's like she can't believe this is real life. 

They kiss again. Longer this time. Jimin moves slowly, her hands gentle and reverent, sliding up Minjeong's waist. 

"I get to sleep with my wife tonight."

Minjeong snorts. "Not like you haven't been sleeping with her for years already."

"Yeah, but," Jimin breathes, grinning against Minjeong's mouth. "Now it's official. Morally correct, y'know?"

"Oh yeah?"

Jimin hums in response. Her fingers grasp at the hem of Minjeong's shirt and Minjeong helps in guiding it over her head, revealing her bare chest.

"It's freezing in here," Minjeong notes as she lays back. "You left the window open."

"So I'm not the reason your nipples are rock hard?" Jimin teases.

Minjeong answers by giving her a light shove.

"Stop talking," she mumbles, scrunching her nose. "Warm me up."

Jimin grins again, cupping Minjeong's breasts. "Yes ma'am."

Minjeong's eyes flutter shut and Jimin proceeds to kiss down her chest. She parts her mouth to let out little whimpers as her wife's lips latch around one nipple, then the other, her toes curling at the attention.

Jimin's teeth graze the sensitive bud one last time before she releases it, lips continuing their trail downward. She coaxes sweet noises from Minjeong at the feather light kisses she leaves on her stomach, and when she reaches the waistband of Minjeong's sleep shorts, she tugs them off.

"I love you," she whispers as she mouths along the thin fabric of Minjeong's panties, pressing more kisses there. 

Minjeong's heart swells instantly, her breathing unsteady. "I love you too."

Jimin peels the panties down her legs. Bites her lip at the swollen, slick sight waiting for her. She rests her hands on Minjeong's hips and dives right in. Licks. Tastes. Lets herself get lost in the pleasure of being between Minjeong's thighs. Minjeong, her wife. Her everything.

Minjeong grasps at strands of Jimin's dark hair, pulling them to ground her as Jimin's tongue circles her clit.

"God," she gasps, hips twitching. "God, Jimin."

Jimin pulls back, takes a moment to adjust her position, earning her an impatient whine from Minjeong.

"Look how ready you are for me," she murmurs, watching closely for Minjeong's reaction as she slips a finger into her heat. "Fuck, so perfect..."

Minjeong moans. Moans again at the addition of a second finger, with Jimin scissoring them in the way that never fails to take her to a completely different dimension.

"Baby, I..." she chokes out, feeling that familiar sensation building low in her abdomen. 

Jimin's eyes are glued to Minjeong's face in anticipation. She doubles her efforts, pushes in a third finger as Minjeong clenches around them, seconds away from the inevitable. 

Minjeong fists a hand into the sheets, her breath stuttering before she gives in, cries out, body arching as her orgasm rips through her.

Jimin is left awestruck. Like she always is. No matter how many times she gets to witness Minjeong fall apart like this, it's like she's seeing it for the very first time. Wants to play it on a loop forever. She crawls back up Minjeong's body once Minjeong starts to come down. Kisses her tenderly on the mouth.